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THE 

POISONED PARADISE 

A ROMANCE OF MONTE CARLO 

Robert wr Service 

AUTHOR OF “THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT,” “ RHYMES OF 
A ROLLING STONE,” “ THE PRETENDER,” ETC. 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
1922 




PZs 

.Shu 

h 


Copyright, 1922, 

By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. 


MAR 0 3 1036 

'OPY 

C/frER 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 

ITbt (Suinn Sc iBoben Company 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Prologue 1 

Book One — The Story of Margot ... 5 

Book Two — The Story of Hugh .... 77 

Book Three — The Wheel 131 

Book Four — The Vortex 245 

Book Five — The Man Hunt 341 









THE 

POISONED PARADISE 


PROLOGUE 

The boy was sitting in a corner of the shabby room. 
The mother watched him from her pillow. 

“What are you doing, dear?” 

“Drawing, Mother Lovely.” 

“Strange! Always drawing. Did I ever tell you that 
your father was an artist?” 

The boy looked at her thoughtfully. His eyes were like 
her own, dark and velvety; but his sunny hair contrasted 
with her black braids. 

“No, Mother Lovely. Had I a father?” 

“Yes, dearest. He died just before you were born. I 
came here hoping that his people, so rich, so proud, would 
be glad to see you. But, no, they cannot understand. 
. . . We’ll go home together, you and I, to my home.” 

“Where is that, Mother?” 

“Monaco, the great rock that rises from the sea, where 
my family has lived for generations. Listen, little son 
... if I should not be able to go with you, you must go 
alone. You will find the house where lives my mother, a 
plain, quiet house with brown shutters near the Cathedral. 
In front four pepper trees shield it from the sun, and 
through the pines one can see the blue glimmer of the 


1 


2 


PROLOGUE 


“Is it beautiful, my mother ?” 

“Always beautiful. The people sing from very joy. 
In the garden of the Prince, just in front of our house, 
there is a broken pillar covered with ivy. Beside it is a 
spring where flowers bloom even in summer heat. It was 
there we used to meet, your father and I. . . . Ah! I 
have never regretted it, never. . . .” 

Her girlish face was as sweet as a flower, but her eyes 
held memories too tragic for tears. 

Then the door opened and a woman entered with a 
masterful air. 

“Pm preparin’ yer potion, ma’am. The doctor said 
you was to take it at eight o’clock. Come on, sonny, it’s 
bedtime. Ma wants to get a good long night.” 

The child looked imploringly at his mother. She shook 
her head. 

“No, dearest, you must do what the lady tells you. 
Come, good-night.” 

She held him in her arms, kissing him again and again. 
“You, too, will be an artist. . . but you must be brave, 
my little son; for you have a hard, hard life before you.” 

Then she let him go, but he turned at the door. “Good 
night, Mother Lovely.” 

“Good night, darling one. Think of what I told you, — 
of home . . . .” 

She was alone now. Closing her eyes she saw a little U 
shaped harbour shielded from the sea. It was as delicate 
as a pastel, a placque of sapphire set in pearl. In the 
crystal air the red-roofed houses crowded close to it, the 
terraced town rose on tip-toe to peer at it. All was glit- 
ter and gleam and radiant beauty. Yet yonder in sombre 
contrast rose the Rock, monstrous, moody, mediaeval. 

Once more she climbed the long steep hill; she crossed 


PROLOGUE 


3 


the sunny square in front of the palace; she passed into 
the cool gloom of the narrow streets. Then at last she 
stood before the low brown house with its tiny porch and 
its four pepper trees. . . . 

Home. . . . Home. Would she ever see it again? 

Moaning, she turned her face to the wall. 




BOOK ONE 


The Story of Margot 








CHAPTER ONE 


THE OUTCAST 

1 . 

“f | ^HAT you, Margot?” 

| “Yes, Mother.” 

“For God’s sake close the door. You don’t think 
I break my back gathering wood that you may warm 
the wide world.” 

There was a scuffle of sabots anxiously retreating. 
“Margot!” 

“Yes, Mother.” 

“You’re not going away again, are you?” 

“Come here, little toad. I’ve something to say to you.” 
Submissively from the shadow of the door-way slipped 
a girl. She had twin braids of pale gold hair, and be- 
tween them like a wedge, her face showed waxen with 
cold. 

“ ’Fraid I’ll eat you?” snapped the woman. “Come 
here, near to me. Brought home any money?” 

“No, Mother.” 

“But I told you to ask.” 

“I did not dare. Madame will not pay in advance. 
The last time I asked her she almost sent me away.” 

“ Nom de Dieul Couldn’t you give her some story? 
Your little sister’s sick. There’s no food in the house. 

7 


8 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Your poor mother’s . . . Ugh! What a fool I have 
for a daughter. So all you’ve brought back’s an empty 
stomach. Oh, I could strike you, I could.” 

She suited the gesture to the threat, and the girl 
arched her slender arms to stave off the blow. But the 
woman dropped her hands disgustedly. 

“Bah! what’s the use. If I could only make you cry 
there’d be some relish in it. But no ! I beat you till 
my arms ache and never a whimper. That’s your stub- 
born nature. You’ll do nothing to please me. Oh, you’re 
a stubborn little devil, still as a mouse, obstinate as a 
mule. There’s something in you, daughter, I can’t get 
at. But I will. I’ll thrash it out of you. You wait. 
Not to-night. I’m too tired to-night. . . .” 

From the tumbler at her elbow she took a gulp of 
cider and brandy, then turned broodingly to the fire. 
The sickly flames betrayed the wretchedness of the room, 
the gaunt rafters, the floor of beaten earth. On a deal 
table lay a clasp knife, and beside it a loaf of bread. The 
girl eyed the bread avidly. Then her hand, red and 
claw-cold, stole to the knife, while her gaze rested fear- 
fully on her mother. But the woman no longer heeded. 

“What a life!” she was muttering. “What a home! 
And to think I’d have been rolling in my auto, and 
crackling in silk and satin, if I hadn’t been a fool. That’s 
my weak point. ... I always wanted to be respectable, 
to be married — all that sentimental rot. Well, I’ve made 
my bed and I’ve got to lie on it. But it’s hell. . . .” 

She stared dismally at her draggled skirts, her coarsely 
stockinged feet, her wooden shoes so warped and worn. 
Seeing her absorbed, the girl hacked off a piece of bread 
and fell to wolfing it. The woman went on, her face 
harsh and haggard in the light of the fire : 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


9 


“There was the American. Mad about me, he was. If 
I’d played my cards right he’d have married me. What 
a time he gave me, Paris, Venice, Monte Carlo. . . . Oh, 
Monte Carlo ! But he had to go back home at last. His 
wife! Told me to wait and he’d get a divorce. Gave me 
all the money he had. Nearly five hundred pounds. Be- 
lieve me, I was pretty in them days.” 

As if for confirmation, she stroked her hollow cheeks. 
Tears of self-pity welled in her weary eyes. 

“Ah ! if I’d known, I would have waited. But there 
was Pierre plaguing me to marry him. Told me he’d loved 
me since we’d worked together in that hotel in Brighton; 
me as bar-maid, him as head-waiter. Mighty nice he used 
to look too in his dress suit. He said he’d been left some 
money and wanted to go back to the little town where he 
was born and buy a pub. So we was married, once in 
England and once in France. God! I was particular in 
them days.” 

She laughed bitterly, and took another gulp of the mix- 
ture in her glass. Her eyes went glassy. Her fingers 
clutched unseen things. She maundered on. 

“Yes, I was happy there. It was all so new to me. 
Then we began to get ambitious. The landlord of the big 
hotel died suddenly. It was a great chance for Pierre, but 
he had not money enough to take it. There was where I 
came in. I gave him my five hundred pounds. Told him 
an aunt had left it to me. He believed me. We bought 
the hotel and everything semed to go well. Yes, them were 
the happy days.” 

A fit of coughing interrupted her. When it was over 
she took another drink. 

“I don’t know how Pierre got to know about the Ameri- 
can. He was away a month and when he came back he 


10 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


was changed. He explained nothing, but he treated me 
like dirt. It was that made me take to the drink.” 

She was silent awhile. Then . . . 

“He didn’t seem to care about the business any more 
and I was drinking too much to care; so we went from 
bad to worse. We lost the hotel and went back to the 
buvette. Then we lost that too, and he had to take a 
waiter’s place. By this time the drink was master of me. 
I tried to give it up but it was no use. When Cecile was 
born I thought I’d be able to stop, but I was worse than 
ever. If he’d only tried to help me ! But no, he hated me ; 
and I began to hate him too. We fought day and night, 
like cat and dog. Well, it’s a long, long story, and here’s 
the end.” 

She threw a withered branch of gorse on the fire. It 
blazed up gold as its own May-day bloom. The girl had 
climbed on a bench by the high bed and was bending 
fondly over. 

“Margot!” screamed the woman. 

The girl started. In the sudden flare, her face was an 
ashen mask of fear. 

“What are you doing there?” 

“I’m just looking at Cecile, Mother.” 

“Come away at once. Haven’t I told you a hundred 
times not to go near her? I know you with your sneaking 
ways. You want to steal her away from me. She’s the 
only one I’ve got left, and I want her to myself, — all, all. 
If ever you go near her, I’ll kill you. See!” 

A fit of coughing choked her utterance. Again the girl 
stole to the door. 

“Margot !” 

“Yes, Mother.” 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


11 


“Fetch the bottle of brandy from the cupboard.” 

The woman poured herself a stiff glass and downed it 
in a gulp. 

“Come here, you little imp; I want to look at you.” 

She drew the shrinking girl to her. Her lips twitched 
with spite. 

“His eyes, his mouth, his chin. The very image of him. 
And he says you’re not his daughter. Ah! that was the 
knife in me. Do you hear, girl? Your father says you’re 
not his daughter.” 

She laughed harshly, scornfully. 

“You’re so much his daughter that I hate you, hate 
you !” 

The girl had begun to struggle, but the woman was 
holding her with spiteful strength. 

“Let me tell you something. He came to-day and told 
me he was going away for ever. He tried to take Cecile, 
but I fought for her, fought like a wild cat to hold her. 
You understand?” 

The girl winced in her savage grip. 

“Hear that. You’ve no father. He disowns you. And 
let me tell you something more, — you’ve no mother. . . . 
I disown you, too. After to-night I never want to see 
you again. You’re the dead image of him and I hate him 
too much. Now go!” 

She hurled the girl from her and took another gulp of 
the neat brandy. The glass dropped from her hand. 
She sagged forward. 

Except for the crackle of the burning twigs all was 
quiet. The girl gathered a hurried armful of clothes. 
She was glad to go, but for Cecile ! 

She stole over to the bed where her sister lay sleeping. 
She saw a cluster of golden curls, a wan little face with 


12 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


lips parted and lashes that seemed to cast a shadow. 
Bending down, she kissed the white cheek. The heavy 
lashes stirred, the big blue eyes opened, the child’s silken 
arm stole around her neck. 

“You’ve come home, Margot?” 

“Yes, but I’m going away again.” 

“Don’t go, Margot. Don’t leave me. I’m afraid of 
Mother. Stay with me. Stay with your little Cecile.” 

“No, I can’t. Kiss me, dear.” 

The child held her so tightly it was difficult to free 
herself. Then the mother turned. She shrieked in sud- 
den fury, and the girl in her terror made a leap for the 
door. But the latch jammed; and, the while she was 
fumbling with it, the woman made a rush for her. 

The girl screamed with fright. The woman, in her 
haste, stumbled, caught herself, and with a foul oath 
snatched the knife from the table. . . . 

That was Margot’s last memory of her mother, — 
a harridan hurling curses at her and threatening her 
with a naked knife. . . . 

Sobbing with terror, she stumbled over the stone 
sill of the door-way and gained the sanctuary of the 
night. 

2 . 

The night had on her robe of carnival, and her span- 
gled skirts made glorious the sky. The girl halted by 
the wayside, where a line of clipped oaks blotted them- 
selves against the stars. She did not cry, for she had 
lost the habit of tears, but drew long sobbing breaths. 

The night wore drearily on, the stars seemed to glitter 
in cruel unconcern. The girl dozed and dreamed a 
little. . . . 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


IB 


She was a child of four , the happiest and best dressed 
in all the village . She had robes of lace , and silk ribbands , 
and shoes of satin. Her mother cared for her like a little 
princess , and her father carried her proudly in his arms . 
Every one said she was spoiled. She had more toys than 
all the other children put together. But the most pre- 
cious of all was a doll as big as a real baby , a doll that 
opened and shut its eyes , and had jointed arms and legs. 
She had a dozen dresses for this doll , and spent hours and 
hours caring for it. . . . 

She was a girl of ten . She wore a long white robe 
and a veil over her head. Some said she looked like a 
fairy , some an angel . It was her first Communion , and 
of a score of girls she was the prettiest by far. She it wae 
who headed the shining procession through the long 
grey street of the village . The way was strewn with lily 
leaves , and child-voices blended sweetly in the June 
sunshine. . . . 

That was her last memory of happiness. Her father 
suddenly changed. Where she had known only caresses, 
harsh words and bitter looks were now her portion. The 
home once so joyful, was the scene of sordid wrangling. 
She was allowed to go about shabby and dirty, and be- 
came nothing but a slipshod drudge. 

Her father never struck her, but her mother beat her 
cruelly. It was a relief when she was apprenticed to the 
local dress-maker and spent her day away from the misery 
of home. But oh, the nights when she ate her slovenly 
supper and waited for the inevitable out-break ! When 
it came and the storm raged at its height, her father 
would retreat with Cecile to the cottage of her grand- 
mother and leave her to bear the brunt of her mother’s 
drunken spite. How often had she been thrashed, how 


U THE POISONED PARADISE 

often torn from her bed, and flung half clad into the night ! 
In the old barn there was a corner where she had many a 
time crouched and shivered until dawn. Ah, what bitter 
memories ! Would any amount of happiness ever efface 
them P 

So half brooding, half dreaming, the night passed away. 
She opened her eyes wide and found she had gained a ridge 
not far from a forest. She looked down a billowy slope 
of tree-tops to the misty level of the plain. It was a grim 
grey world ; but even as she gazed, a silver wire seemed 
to be drawn along the horizon. The stillness was intense, 
a listening, waiting stillness ; from the other side of the 
sky some god seemed to be pouring over the cloud-fleece a 
solution of light. 

Then as she looked she saw that the sinister quality of 
the light had gone. The silver wire had broadened to a 
glint of pearl; slowly it glowed to a pink as delicate as 
that of sea-shells. The pink deepened to a rose, kindled 
and spread. Waves of colour rippled up the sky, brighten- 
ing with every wave. Shade succeeded shade. Rich crim- 
son battled with cerise and rose with coral pink. Then 
suddenly came a leap of gold, the gold of daffodils. It 
brimmed into a dazzling flood. It welled and glowed and 
spread ; and before its radiant lucidity the orgy of colour 
melted away. Then into that indomitable light, — a prim- 
rose rim, a golden segment, the sun was launched in all 
its glory. 

The sunshine and the song of birds gave her courage. 
The world began to glitter. Warbling notes came from 
the bushes, and dew-drops spangled the thread of gossa- 
mer. In this world, so fresh, so fair, the happenings of 
the night before seemed to her an evil dream. 

The few peasants she passed gazed at her curiously. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


15 


Over her shoulder was slung her bundle, and her pale, 
peaked face between its twin braids of bright hair had all 
the entreaty of a beaten dog. 

As she trudged wearily on she came to a glade, flooded 
with sunshine and perfumed with pine. Bees droned in 
the wild thyme, from the fork of a tree a squirrel scolded, 
on a hollow oak near-by a wood-pecker drummed sonor- 
ously. And in the midst of this scene of peace an old man 
was painting. 

He was not a nice old man. His skin was white, the 
dead white of an onion, and the girl noted that flies 
swarmed round and round him. They settled on his 
blouse and walked over his beard but he took no notice 
of them. He seemed to attract flies as carrion attracts 
them. He gave the girl a contemptuous look. 

“Well, what d’ye think of my picture?” 

“It’s very pretty, sir.” 

“Pretty be damned. Never tell an artist his work’s 
pretty.” 

The girl was turning away when his voice arrested her. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I don’t know, sir.” 

“Whv? Haven’t you got a home?” 

“No, sir.” 

He turned round and looked at her hard. He seemed 
to reflect. 

“Wouldn’t you like to go to Paris?” 

The girl started. Paris! It was the most beautiful, 
the most wonderful city in the world. It had been one of 
her dreams that some day she might visit it. 

“Yes, sir,” she answered. 

“Then, why not?” 

“I have no money.” 


16 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Is that the only reason ?” 

“I have no friends there.” 

“You would make friends in time. Why not go?” 

“Oh, no, sir. I should be afraid. Maybe, I could not 
find work.” 

“Humph! Perhaps, I could help you to find work. 
Come here.” 

Timidly she drew near. She did not like him, but she 
felt she must obey. The flies were on his shoulders in a 
grey cloud. He had a very small mouth, with lips that 
were shiny. He moistened these very often with his 
tongue. In his ears were wads of pink cotton wool. He 
put out a puffy, yellow hand and touched her. He tilted 
back her sharp chin. He held one of the thick braids of 
her shiny hair. 

“Bah! you won’t be much of a model for the figure. 
But I might make something of your head. Wait till I 
finish my work, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

There was such an air of command in his tone that again 
she felt she must obey. So she sat down on her bundle 
and waited patiently. He worked without heeding her, 
until a little before noon, when he rose and gathered 
together his materials. 

“Come now. I’ll go with you to the station.” 

Doglike she followed at his heels. The village was about 
two miles away. He bought her some bread and choco- 
late and a bottle of cheap wine. 

“You’re as hungry as a young wolf, eh! Well, you can 
eat on the train. Come quickly or you will miss it.” 

She went with him to the station. There he gave her 
a third class ticket for Paris and a sealed letter. 

“Go to the address on the envelope. Go direct. My 
housekeeper will make you comfortable.” 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 17 

Then the train arrived and he looked at her with eyes 
that shone curiously. 

“You will help Madame Mangepain with the house- 
work till I come. After that we will see.” 

As the train moved off she saw him standing on the 
platform, licking his lips and surrounded by a swarm of 
flies. 


CHAPTER TWO 


THE MAN ON WHOM FLIES SETTLED 

T WO o’clock in the morning at the Gare du Mont- 
parnasse. The girl was dazed and weary. She 
sat on her bundle in the stale greyness of the 
station, waiting anxiously for the dawn. About six 
o’clock she ventured forth, and holding her precious en- 
velope in her hand inquired her way at the corner of 
every street. 

A morning of exquisite metal, vivid, spacious, resplen- 
dent. As she crossed the Seine by the Pont Royal, the 
sky was golden and against it gloomed the twin towers of 
Notre Dame. The palaces of the Louvre swam in lovely 
light and the Gardens of the Tuileries seemed washed in 
yellow wine. Up the long rise of the Champs-Elysees, the 
Arc de Triomphe was superbly radiant, its turquoise 
heart stillettoed by the glittering lunge of the Luxor 
Column. 

The girl gazed with awestruck eyes. As she thought of 
the sunrise in the forest the violence of the change dulled 
her brain. The city amazed and appalled her; but, im- 
pelled by fear, she came at length to the heights of 
Montmartre. There before a gloomy house in the Rue 
Lepic she paused, her heart beating thickly. 

She knocked at the heavy oak-door, timidly at first, then 
loudly. She had a sudden fear that there might be no 
one there. As she was wondering what she should 
do she heard slow, shuffling foot-steps, and a with- 

18 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


19 


drawal of bolts, then the door opened a little. An old 
woman regarded her angrily. She was bent almost double, 
and held her head sideways. Her face was hard and 
sour. She snarled : 

“What are you making all this row for? Couldn’t you 
have the patience to wait till I got down?” 

The girl presented her letter. The old woman regarded 
it suspiciously. 

“Who gave you this ?” 

“The old man who paints in the forest.” 

“Ah! Monsieur Frossard. Well, you can’t expect me 
to read it without my glasses. Wait there.” 

She closed the door, leaving the girl on the step; but 
soon she came back, and her face was grimmer than ever. 

“Another of ’em. Well, I suppose I must take you in. 
He’s quite the philanthropist, Monsieur Frossard. He! 
He!” 

The old woman preceeded her down a long corridor, 
her back bent and her feet splayed out. They mounted 
a broad flight of stairs, then a narrow one. 

“There! that’s your room, and lucky you are to have 
it. I’ll warrant a pig-stye is more in your line. You 
are a poor bit of skin and bone anyway. Leave your 
bundle on the bed and come with me to the kitchen.” 

The girl soon fell into the ways of the household. She 
rose at five and prepared the coffee. She scrubbed and 
rubbed, washed and swept. She did everything but the 
cooking and the marketing. The old woman seldom spoke 
to her, and forbade her to put a foot out-of-doors. * 

The house was a private one, with a large studio fac- 
ing the north, and a small, weedy garden shut in by high 
walls. The girl was allowed to go into the garden, but 
its damp melancholy oppressed her. Some headless statues 


20 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


leaned against the mouldering wall. It was very quiet. 
She felt as if she were in a prison. 

One Sunday morning Monsieur Frossard arrived. For 
days before they had been making preparations, dusting 
statuettes and bric-a-brac, sweeping in unwonted nooks 
and corners. The old woman sidled everywhere like a 
crab, with her neck twisted awry, her bent back and large 
splay feet in felt slippers. She kept Margot at work, 
constantly impressing on her the necessity of pleasing the 
Master. So much did she harp on this that the girl looked 
forward to the old man’s return almost with dread. 

On his arrival he went to his room and retired into his 
great four-poster bed. The old woman attended to him, 
carrying him specially prepared dishes, and dusty 
bottles of wine. 

That evening she said to the girl: “Margot, put on 
a clean apron and take this plate of peaches up to the 
Master.” 

Tremblingly the girl obeyed. Monsieur Frossard was 
propped up in bed, a skull cap on his head, and a cigar in 
his mouth. Around him was the debris of his evening 
meal, the carcase of a lobster, some bones of frog-legs, 
and a half finished bottle of champagne. As she ap- 
proached she was conscious of a strange odour of decay. 
The old man looked at her, licking his little slimy lips 
while a score of flies buzzed and settled around him. The 
pink cotton wool was still in his ears. She wondered if 
there was any connection between the cotton wool and 
the flies. An odd revulsion seized her, yet she continued 
to approach with the fruit. 

“ Tiens ! it’s the little girl I found in the forest. What’s 
your name?” 

“Margot, Sir.” 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 21 

“Come here, Margot, close to me. Let me offer you 
a peach.” 

The girl, standing with her head bent, refused. 

“Ah! you are too timid. We must cure you of that.” 

He put out one of his pudgy hands and took hold of 
a long bright strand of her hair. The girl raised her 
startled blue eyes. The hand on her shining hair made 
her think of a toad. She shuddered. The old man’s face 
changed; it became hard and cruel. 

“Go away,” he said harshly. “I will see you to-mor- 
row.” 

Next morning Madame Mangepain said to her: 

“The Master wants to see you in the studio.” 

The girl went reluctantly. The studio had always 
awed her. It was so huge, so rich. There were costly 
rugs on the floor and lovely pictures on the wall. The 
paintings all bore the signature of Abel Frossard, and 
ranged from nudes to landscapes. 

The painter, in his velvet cap and dressing gown, was 
sitting before a fresh canvas. He turned heavily and 
beckoned her to enter. His manner was bland, even in- 
gratiating. 

“Well, Margot, you are commencing this morning your 
new career, that of a model.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the girl meekly. 

“You’d better say ‘Yes, Master.’ ” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Now as a model, you may be a success or you may be 
a failure. I will do my best to make you a success, but 
it will largely depend on yourself. There’s many a woman 
to-day with her limousine and her appartement in the 
Champs-Elysees who began life as a model. On the other 
hand, if you are a failure there is only the street for 


22 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


you, the hospital, prison, death . . . you understand.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Ah, good! By the way, why were you afraid of me 
last night?” 

The girl did not answer. She was looking at a fly 
that was crawling on the pink cotton wool in his ear. 

“You mustn’t be afraid. You’ll never make a success 
as a model if you are afraid. Now to work.” 

He motioned her to a dais, on which stood a chair that 
seemed all curves. 

“Sit there and loosen your hair.” 

The girl obeyed. It fell in a sheen of gold around her. 
He handed her a brush. 

“Brush it out so that it is like an aura.” 

She did not understand, but brushed and brushed, with 
long, sweeping strokes. The old man had forgotten he 
was anything but a painter. 

“Fine,” he said enthusiastically. “Now raise your 
head and look at the statuette above the book case. 
There! That’s good. Just hold the position. I will 
make a preliminary study to-day.” 

The girl sat quite still, and the old man painted in- 
tently. She posed until luncheon, which she ate with 
Madame Mangepain in the kitchen, and at two o’clock re- 
turned to the studio and resumed the pose. At five o’clock 
the old man laid down his brush and rubbed his hands. 

“There ! I’ve finished. Come and see it.” 

She looked at the beautiful bit of brush work. She 
could not believe that this ethereal girl-face with the 
eyes so thrillingly blue and the nimbus of bright gold 
hair was herself. The old man observed her awe with 
satisfaction. 

“You like it, eh? Yes, it’s good. A bit idealized. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


23 


Well, it’s nothing to what I will do before I finish. I’ll 
make Chabas look to his laurels jet. Ah I jour hair ! it’s 
what inspires me. Tade Stjcka has no better model. 
I’ll make jour hair famous.” 

Turning her to admire it the more, he parted it be- 
hind; then suddenlj the girl felt his lips pressed to the 
back of her neck. She started as if a serpent had stung 
her and put her hand to the place. Again a shudder 
passed over her. For a moment a strange look came 
into his ejes, then thej went cold again, and he laughed 
reassuringlj. 

“Ha ! Ha ! jou mustn’t mind me. It’s purelj paternal. 
It won’t do jou anj harm. Now go and get a good sup- 
per. I’ll want jou to-morrow. Don’t look at me in 
such a frightened waj. I’m not an ogre. I won’t eat 
jou.” 

The next daj she posed for him again, but this time 
he did not attempt to kiss her. He was verj authorita- 
tive. 

“P ull up jour sleeves,” he said sharplj. 

She obejed. He looked derisivelj at her skinnj arms. 

“Now, open jour dress and show me jour shoulders. 
Coil up jour hair on jour head first.” 

Again she obejed. When he was like this she was not 
afraid of him. It was as if there were two men in him, 
the artist and the satjr. He was all artist as he con- 
tinued : 

“Humph! You’ll never do. You’re nothing but bones 
and green shadows.” 

He threw down his palette and walked heavilj about; 
the room. 

“Too bad jou’re so thin. I feel I could do big things 
with jou. But I must, I must! We’ll fatten jou up if 


24 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


it takes a year. Listen, I’m going away to-morrow to 
Morocco. I’ll be gone a month. In that time I want 
you to get fat. Do nothing, eat lots, read, amuse your- 
self. Turn your angles into curves. You hear?” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Now, don’t forget. If you’re not round and smooth 
by the time I come back, I will have no more use for you. 
Then it’s the street. You know what that means. Go!” 

She went, and later on she heard him instructing the 
housekeeper. 

“I’m going to-morrow, Madame Mangepain, to Mo- 
rocco, and I want that girl to be plumped up. Fatten 
her as you would a chicken. She’s going to be my favour- 
ite model. I can do great things with her. Great things ! 
Let her do no work. Wait on her. Feed her dainty 
dishes. Buy her fine clothes, silks and that sort of thing. 
Books too. Don’t let her move about too much. Remem- 
ber, it’s for my sake not hers. I rely on you, Madame 
Mangepain. And I say, address her as mademoiselle.” 

He left next morning and Margot felt a huge sense of 
relief. It was as if something corrupt had gone out of 
the house. She could not get over this feeling of pourri- 
ture even when she was posing for him in the big studio. 
Perhaps his breath was so fetid, that it pervaded every 
room he entered. 

When he had gone, her life changed completely. Ma- 
dame Mangepain said to her at supper: 

“Don’t get up to-morrow morning. I’ll bring you your 
breakfast in bed.” 

“Oh, no, madame.” 

“I tell you I will. It’s the Master s orders. I’ve been 
told to serve you and I will . . . mademoiselle.” 

“Oh, please don’t call me mademoiselle.” 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


25 


“It’s the Master’s orders.” 

The next morning the girl remained in bed until the 
old woman sidled in with a tray of cafe au lait , croissants 
and fine butter. 

“Now stay in bed till I come back.” 

The girl heard her go out, locking the door. She re- 
turned an hour later carrying a large parcel containing 
a kimono of mauve silk, fine lace underwear, silk stock- 
ings, and velvet shoes. 

“There ! Put these on. It’s the Master’s orders. And 
I’ll go and prepare your bath.” 

It must be said that Madame Mangepain entered on 
her undertaking with zeal if not with enthusiasm. She 
taught the girl the elegancies of the toilette, the care of 
her skin, how to point and polish her nails and to 
bring to perfection her teeth and her hair. She had 
quite a battery of bottles and brushes, of oils and paints 
and perfumes. Margot spent every morning in the white- 
tiled bathroom, meticulously following the regime that 
the old woman demanded of her. 

For luncheon, each day she was given dainty dishes 
such as she had never dreamed of ; then, wrapt in the 
mauve kimono and stretched out on the great divan in 
the studio amid a pile of cushions, she would read one of 
the luridly covered novels the old woman bought for her. 
Among them were Cheri-Bebe, Dracula and Les deux 
Gosses. These books absorbed her, made her forget her 
strange surroundings, which otherwise filled her with a 
vague fear. Sometimes she even thought of escape, when 
she sat on fine afternoons in the wild unweeded garden 
amid the headless statues. By climbing upon one of them 
she could have gained the top of the wall and freedom. 
But after that . . . what? The streets! She had a 


26 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


horror of the outer world which the old woman never lost 
an opportunity of developing. According to Madame 
Mangepain Paris was a merciless ogre, demanding its 
daily tribute of a thousand girls such as she, crushing 
and devouring them. 

One day as she peered through a window into the 
street, she saw a girl about her age in a violet blouse with 
black, oily hair banged on her forehead, and at her side, 
a pale stunted youth with a reckless mouth and eyes cold 
as those of a snake. They seemed to be having words. 
Suddenly the youth struck the girl, knocking her down; 
then snatched a cheap trinket from her throat, and with 
a final vicious kick, went off laughing cynically. This 
typical scene of apache life made a deep impression on 
her. 

“It’s all like that,” she thought, — “the life out there. 
IPs what will happen to me.” 

“Ah, I’ll make a beauty of you yet,” said Madame 
Mangepain at the end of the second week. “Monsieur 
Frossard won’t know you when he comes back.” 

And indeed the girl was amazed at the change in her- 
self. Her kin had become smooth and velvety, her limbs 
round and firm. Her face, too, had changed. It had re- 
tained its quality of childishness, but had lost its cowed 
and shrinking look. Hints of sweetness and charm re- 
vealed themselves. If only she could get away, find decent 
work, escape from the sinister old man into whose clutches 
she had fallen. Every day the dread of his return grew 
upon her. 

Then one night Monsieur Frossard came back. 

When she brought Margot her coffee next morning 
Madame Mangepain said to her: 

“Get up and make yourself as beautiful as you can. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 2? 

Monsieur Frossard wants to see you in the studio. Be 
sure you are a credit to me.” 

The old woman went so far as to superintend her toil- 
ette, putting a faint flush of rouge high on her cheeks, 
and brushing her hair like spun gold down over the mauve 
kimono. But nothing could mask the wretchedness in 
the depths of the girl’s eyes. 

As she stood in the doorway of the studio Monsieur 
Frossard turned ponderously. 

“EntreZy voyons. Don’t stand there like a Christian 
martyr going to the stake. Come here.” 

With eyes cast down she obeyed. He pulled up the 
sleeve of her kimono and looked at her arm with a critical, 
dispassionate gaze. 

“Ah, bon. Now do up your hair in the glass and bare 
your shoulders. I’m going to do a bust of you to-day.” 

Again she obeyed, his eyes following her eagerly. 

“Sit on the model’s chair. Bare your breast more. 
What are you afraid of, you little fool? Remember, I’m 
an artist. I’ve been itching to paint you, itching. I’ve 
thought of you all the time I’ve been away. I have a 
dozen ideas. I’m going to make you famous.” 

A passion almost cruel in its intensity seemed to seize 
him. Imperiously he made her hold the pose and painted 
with swift sure strokes. He stopped reluctantly for 
lunch and bade her hurry and again take the pose. He 
worked until the light failed, then laid aside his brush 
with a regretful sigh. 

“Voila! Come and look at this.” 

Again the girl marvelled at what she saw. These curves 
of milky shoulders, that slim, silky beauty of neck and 
throat, the shell-like ear, the faintly hollow cheek with 
its suggestion of pathetic sweetness, and above all the 


28 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


superb mass of hair, — here glinting with the brightness 
of stubble in September sunshine, there richly gold as the 
ripened grain. Could this really be she? Frossard might 
be a devil, but he painted like an angel. 

“Pm tired now,” he said, “I want to rest until dinner. 
You’ll take dinner with me in the studio. We’ll celebrate.” 

She heard him with a heaviness of heart. All his artistic 
fire had left him and he seemed to be very old. More than 
ever she was conscious of his odour, and the flies that 
followed him everywhere. The joy the sight of her pic- 
ture had given her was extinguished. She went away 
quickly. 

Madame Mangepain served them a dinner that ex- 
celled anything the girl had ever conceived. Margot ate 
scarcely at all. Frossard, however, made up for her lack 
of appetite. He filled himself with delicious food, washed 
down with draughts of Beaune from a dusty bottle. He 
lingered long over the dessert, talking to her of his travels 
in Morocco, and looking for all the world, like a bloated, 
heavy-eyed pasha. 

“Have one of these cigarettes,” he said. “I get them 
specially in Cairo.” 

The girl refused. 

“Then, you must have a glass of this champagne. It’s 
quite harmless. You can dip one of those biscuits in it.” 

He bade her finish the champagne. It was the first 
she had ever tasted and it made her dizzy. The old 
man seemed to have grown very vivacious. He Rvas 
taking glass after glass, and talking more and more 
excitedly. Suddenly he reached out and took hold of her. 

Then fear seized her. She struggled to escape, but he 
held her tight. All at once she felt his shiny little lips 
on her neck, cold as the mouth of the fish called a sucker. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


29 


She had just been reading “ Dracula a story about 
vampires, and the idea flashed into her mind that this old 
man was going to bite her neck and suck her blood. She 
screamed. 

He was panting, and a wild light was in his eyes. “It’s 
no use to squeal. Madame Mangepain has gone out. 
You are all alone in the house with me.” 

Terror gave her strength. With a wrench and a twist 
she broke away, leaving the mauve kimono in his hands. 
She ran to the door of the studio ; but before she reached 
it he was after her. He had her again in his arms. Great 
strength seemed suddenly to come to him. His eyes 
glared, his breath came with a hiss. 

“Ah! you won’t escape. I’ll have you. Ach! you 
struggle, you little vixen ! But your resistance only mad- 
dens me. It’s no use, you’re mine, mine.” 

Fighting with all the force that was in her, she was 
borne backward, and thrown heavily on the divan. She 
saw his face bending over her, his eyes alight, the saliva 
drooling from his mouth. Once more she struggled but 
he held her with a grip of steel. She felt herself grow 
faint. Again and again she shrieked. Oh God! Would 
no one come to her aid? 

She felt her strength leaving her. All she could see 
were his eyes, flaming with cruel lust. How she hated 
those eyes. She would destroy them, put out their light, 
if it cost the last effort of her life. Wrenching her arms 
free she caught his head at the temples, and with a fierce 
thrust pushed her small, pointed thumbs into the gloat- 
ing eyes. With an oath the man pulled himself free 
and struck her down. Then he threw himself on the couch, 
screaming, screaming. 

She ran to the front door but it was locked. She 


30 


TPIE POISONED PARADISE 


rushed up to her room and bolted herself in. She lay 
on her bed sobbing hysterically. She heard the sound 
of hurried feet, much coming and going. In the silence 
that followed Madame Mangepain knocked at her door. 

“Open, you little viper.” 

The face of Madame Mangepain was cold and deadly 
in its fury. “You’ve done it now. You’ve finished the 
Master. The doctor says he’ll never see again. He’ll 
be blind, do you hear; blind. A great artist, a genius 
worth a dozen little trollops like you. Now go, and an 
old woman’s curse go with you!” 

With that Madame Mangepain took her by the shoul- 
ders and threw her into the street. She heard the door 
bang behind her. She was alone in Paris. 


/ 


CHAPTER THREE 


THE BISTRO ON THE RUE DE BELVILLE 

T HE crash of the closing door struck a note of 
terror in the girl’s heart. It was long after mid- 
night, and she was at the mercy of this sinister 
city. She tripped over a box of ash-pan refuse that stood 
on the edge of the pavement ; from it ran two large rats. 
Afraid to be longer in the unlighted street she made her 
way down to the Boulevard de Clichy. 

On the Butte another hectic night had ended. In the 
cafes the waiters were stacking the tables ; the theatres 
were dark and silent, the girls of the pavement loi- 
tering homeward with their men. Only from the rakehell 
restaurants of the Place Pigalle did there issue sounds of 
revelry. It was Montmartre of the profligate, of the 
apache. Under the greenish glare of the electric light 
the girl cowered, a tiny black shadow in a world of sinis- 
ter shadows. Then sinking down on one of the benches 
she gave herself up to despair. 

Now and again a man addressed her; but she kept her 
face hidden in her arched arms and did not answer. She 
trembled at every footstep; the hours seemed endless; 
she longed for the dawn. 

Chilled through she rose and walked on. Two gen- 
darmes looked curiously at her. She was afraid they 
would arrest her, and quickened her steps. She kept 
moving until she was exhausted, then she sank down 
on another bench. 


31 


32 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Stale and jaded, like a drab after a night of excess the 
dawn came in. The sallow light seemed to shudder 
up the sky. Already the city gave signs of awakening 
to another day. The milk-merchants opened their doors ; 
boys on bicycles delivered bundles of newspapers; the 
bakers took down their shutters. From where she sat, 
Margot watched a number of work-girls buy fresh rolls, 
then go to a little bar across the way, and eat their 
dejeuner of bread and coffee. Soon bells sounded from 
neighbouring factories, and the girls hurried away. 

From the little bar came a woman. At first Margot 
thought she was a dwarf, but a second glance showed her 
to be a hunchback. She was very clean and tidy. Her 
face had that look of patient suffering so often seen on 
the faces of hunchbacks. It was a very kind, sweet face, 
but with a certain shrewdness. She nodded to Margot in 
a friendly way. 

“Well, dearie, things going well?” 

The girl looked at her with sad eyes. 

“Ah! I see, — in the soup. Well, it arrives to all the 
world. One day up, another down. Come and give me 
a hand with my shutters. Sapristi! what it is not to have 
a man in the business.” 

Margot helped the woman to take down the shutters. 
Over the shop was painted the sign: 


A LA MERE TRANQUILLE, 


and this sign was repeated on the window and the door. 
Inside there was a circular bar lined with zinc ; and around 
it half a dozen marble-topped tables. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


33 


“Now, come in, dearie,” said the little hunchback. 
“I’m just going to sit down to breakfast, and you are 
going to join me.” 

With that she took the girl by the arm and led her 
behind the bar. They had fresh rolls and butter, and 
hot fragrant coffee. The girl devoured the food as if 
famished and the woman watched her curiously. 

“You certainly are hungry, my child,” she observed. 
“It’s good to see you eat. You look tired too, as if you 
had been out all night. From the country, aren’t you?” 

Encouraged by the little woman’s sympathy the girl 
told her story. When she had finished the Mere Tranquille 
looked at her thoughtfully. 

“Just so,” she said, “a poor, pretty girl alone in Paris 
is about as safe as a young lamb lost among wolves. 
You’ll get devoured, my dear, as sure as sure. Look 
here, I can see you’re an honest girl. I tell you what. 
I need some one to help me here. Come and stay with 
me for a while, — at least till you find something better. 
You will live with me and help me in the bar. You 
shall be at no expense and you can make four or five 
francs a day in tips. Will you come?” 

“Oh, madame, you don’t know how gladly I Let me 
begin work now.” 

“No, you’re too tired. You want a good long rest. 
Come with me.” 

In the little room behind the bar, the Mere Tranquille 
arranged a folding bed, and soon the girl was sleeping 
soundly. 

Thus there began for Margot a life that was strangely 
interesting. Except at rush hours the little place was 
very quiet, and the work not hard. She quickly got over 
her first timidity with the customers and learned to turn 


34 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


a deaf ear to their rather crude pleasantries. There was, 
too, a certain reserve in her manner that made her more 
respected than popular. The little hunchback gave out 
that Margot was her niece from the country, and her 
stiffness was not resented. Most of the customers were 
working people, but there was also a certain backwash 
of the underworld. Above the bar was one of those hotels 
that have no name. By night its glowing transparency 
winked and signalled to the amorous adventurer; by day 
it was haunted by yawning girls in greasy dressing gowns, 
and by dark cynical men. Towards evening these girls 
“put on their beauty,” and unbelievably transformed, sal- 
lied forth; while the men played cards in cafes and 
awaited their return. 

It was one of these men who took a great fancy to 
Margot and tried to dominate her. He was familiarly 
known as Popol, and openly boasted that he had already 
three girls earning money for him. He, indeed, aspired 
to be a sort of leader among his fellows, a Napoleon of 
the bullies. His ambition was fostered by the fact that 
he was born in the slums of Agaccio, and bore a certain 
physical resemblance to the Great Corsican. He was a 
stout, stocky fellow, with a large head, clean shaven, 
regular features and a certain cold impressiveness of man- 
ner. There, however, the resemblance ended; for Popol 
had close-set eyes as cold and deadly as those of a rattle- 
snake, a mouth that twisted cynically, and a nose that 
had been broken in a fight. 

Popol never quarrelled openly with any one; he had 
never been known to draw a knife, yet other men were 
afraid of him, and those who offended him met with un- 
expected misfortunes. It was even said he was a spy of 
the police and did detective work of the dirtier kind. He 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 35 

had brains, a cunning and subtlety that made him a power 
amid his fellows. 

With his cynical conception of all women he thought 
Margot would be flattered by his favours. One day in 
the street he barred her way, accosting her with some 
foul banter. She tried to push past him, and escape. He 
laughed sneeringly, then, gripping her arms, tried to kiss 
her. Filled with a loathing she could not control, she 
struck him full in the face. Popol swore vilely and re- 
leased her. 

It was with ashen cheeks and wildly beating heart that 
she regained the little bar. The Mere Tranquille looked 
troubled when she heard the story, but pretended to laugh 
it off. 

“Don’t be alarmed, cherie ; I can defend you against a 
dozen of these swine. Just treat them like the dirt they 
are. Ah! if only I could sell out and retire to the coun- 
try ! Since my husband died, the business is not what it 
used to be. I got an offer last week of fifteen thousand 
francs for the good will, but I am holding out for twenty. 
That’s what we gave. . . . It’s curious how we got the 
money. . . 

The Mere Tranquille paused reminiscently, then con- 
tinued : 

“It was at Monte Carlo, where we went for our honey- 
moon. Josef would play at the Casino, and on the sec- 
ond day he came to me: ‘I’ve lost everything but that,’ 
he said, pressing a hundred franc bill into my hand. 

“ 6 A nice state of affairs,’ I cried indignantly. ‘It’s 
just enough to take us back to Paris third class.’ 

“ ‘It’s not to take us back to Paris,’ he told me. ‘It’s 
make or break. I want you to play with it. Perhaps, 
you’ll change the luck.’ 


36 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“I knew what he meant and I never have forgiven him 
for it. You know, my dear, that any one deformed as 
I am, is said to always win at games of chance. Indeed, 
when we had stood around the tables I had noticed 
people brush up against me and touch my back in passing. 
Well, I was so angry with Josef I snatched the money 
from him. 

“ ‘I’ll show you,’ I thought. ‘This money will go after 
the other. If I don’t lose it, it won’t be my fault.’ 

“With that I threw it on the first vacant place on the 
table nearest my hand. It happened to be rouge. I 
wanted to see that money swept away. There were tears 
in my eyes, tears of rage. What do you think! Rouge 
came. I left everything on the table. Again rouge came. 
Josef wanted to take up half the winnings: 

“‘No,’ I said vindictively; ‘let it all go.’ 

“Again rouge came. There were now eight hundred 
francs on the table. 

“‘Take it up,’ whispered Josef frantically; ‘It’s more 
than I lost.’ But I answered: ‘No, it’s my money. It 
stays there.’ For the thought of his exploiting my de- 
formity still rankled. Well, again I won. This time 
Josef was crazy. He tried to take up the money him- 
self, but I appealed to the croupiers. The chef de table 
said: ‘The money is madame’s. I saw her put it down. 
Monsieur has no right to touch it.’ 

“Josef was foaming. He said, ‘But madame is my 
wife. What’s hers is mine.’ The clief shrugged his shoul- 
ders ; ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘that is the law in France, but here 
you are in the Casino of Monte Carlo, and that money is 
madame’s.’ 

“By this time the wheel had spun again. Again rouge. 
I had three thousand two hundred francs on the table. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


37 


The crowd began to gather and every one to take sides, 
some with my husband, some with me. Meantime the 
stake remained. Once more the ball spun round. Rouge ! 

“I had now six thousand four hundred francs on the 
table, four hundred more than the maximum; and I re- 
fused to touch it. I threw the four hundred on the next 
division of the table which happened to be impair. Rouge 
— impair came up. I simply could not lose, however hard 
I tried. People were coming from other tables to watch 
us. Josef had gone white as a sheet and was speechless. 
He seemed paralyzed. I had now twelve thousand eight 
hundred. I could see the croupiers were pleased that I 
was winning, for that sort of thing is a great advertise- 
ment for the Casino. I shifted my eight hundred to the 
division higher up, — manque, I think, and put the six 
bills of a thousand on impair. I had now six thousand 
on rouge; six thousand on impair and eight hundred on 
manque. Once more the ball spun. This time I myself 
was quite excited. I felt my heart beat. The place be- 
gan to swim. Then like a person in a dream, I heard the 
croupier say: 

“ ‘Twenty-seven, rouge, impair and passe.’ 

“The spell was broken; I had lost the eight hundred I 
had put on manque but I had won the other two. Twen- 
ty-four thousand francs were mine in the space of ten 
minutes. I simply fainted. . . 

“Did you like Monte Carlo?” asked Margot. 

“I did and didn’t. It’s a dangerous place, a wicked 
place. But, so beautiful ! After that experience we came 
away. Josef was sick of it and swore he would never 
gamble again. We bought this cafe and here I have 
been for fifteen years.” 


38 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“It seems to me I should like to go there,” said the 
girl dreamily. 

“Don’t ever go. It’s no place for poor people. And 
yet I have heard there are lots of women who make a 
living there.” 

The subject dropped, but Margot was strangely inter- 
ested and again and again referred to it. Monte Carlo 
seemed to her like some strange exquisite jewel glittering 
in a setting of sky, sea and mountain. It held her imag- 
ination. It became part of her dreams. 

The next time she met Popol her heart beat painfully; 
but there was nothing in his face to inspire fear. He was 
polite, almost ingratiating. 

“Mademoiselle, I apologize for my rudeness the other 
day. As a peace offering let me beg your acceptance of 
this. . . .” 

He held out a silver bag, which no doubt he had taken 
from one of his wretched girls. Margot shook her 
head. 

“No, it’s not necessary. I’ll excuse you if you wish, 
but I don’t want to accept any present.” 

“No? Then will mademoiselle do me the honour to 
dine with me this evening?” 

“No, I cannot. I am not free.” 

“Oh, I will beg madame, your aunt, to release you.” 

“Thank you ; but you must excuse me. I do not want 
to dine with any one.” 

He repeated this offer several times. He had never 
failed with a girl before and his vanity was stung. From 
coaxings he came to threats. 

“I’ll get you yet, you little devil, you,” he told her. 
“Even if I have to kidnap you, I’ll get you yet.” 

There was a deadly certitude about Popol that made 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


39 


his threats impressive. Her fear of him became such an 
obsession that she would not go outside after dark. She 
told the Mere Tranquille she wanted to leave the quarter, 
but the hunchback laughed away her fears. 

“Wait a little longer, my dear. I expect to sell the 
business any day. Then we’ll have a villa in the country. 
We will grow our own salads and receive the rector in the 
salon. None will dream we ever lived in this pourriture 
of Paris.” 

“You will take me with you, madame?” 

“Yes, you shall be my adopted daughter. Then I will 
marry you to the village butcher and you shall have a 
lovely little daughter called Denise, after me.” 

The girl made a grimace. “I. don’t want to marry a 
butcher.” 

“Fastidious one! Whom do you want to marry?” 

“A poet.” 

“Sentimental little fool! I suppose you’re thinking of 
that Florent Gamier who comes here and spends so much 
time staring at you.” 

“Oh, madame! He never looks at me!” 

“You think so. Sly one! Why, my dear, he’s head 
over heels in love with you. A good-for-nothing socialist, 
too. Take my advice, Poulette, love’s all very well, but 
it’s money that counts in the long run.” 

Margot had indeed an unexpected ally in Florent Gar- 
nier. He was tall, strong, and dark, a carpenter by 
trade. Every day he took his after-dinner coffee in the 
bar. There he would sit quietly reading a book and 
smoking cigarettes. One day he said to her: 

“Listen, Margot. If that dog of a Popol tries to mo- 
lest you, let me know. I’ll do him up; make a hospital 
case of him. See!” 


40 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Oh, no! I wouldn’t like you to have any trouble on 
my account.” 

“Trouble ! An exquisite pleasure. Look here, Margot. 
. . . Won’t you come with me to the cinema some night?” 

“No, thank you. I never go out with any one.” 

“I know you don’t. That’s why I ask you. Well, I 
won’t press you. You may change your mind. In any 
case, I’m watching, and if you need a protector I’m here.” 

The girl was touched, but at the same time embarrassed. 
She did not care enough for Gamier to be more than a 
comrade to him, and something told her this would be 
difficult. He could not comprehend that coldness of tem- 
perament, which was her English heritage, and made her 
able to be friendly with a man while keeping a barrier be- 
tween them. Gamier was from the south, romantic, hot- 
blooded. He would never be able to understand. She 
decided to keep him at a distance, though she liked him 
immensely. 

The conflict between him and Popol came sooner than 
she expected. There was a big strike of the carpenters, 
and Florent Gamier was an executive. Though he 
was very busy addressing meetings and spent most of his 
time at the Bourse du Travail , nevertheless he often came 
into the bar to rest for half an hour over a cup of 
coffee. 

It was on an afternoon in early Spring. Madame had 
gone out and Margot was alone behind the bar. In a 
dusky corner Florent Gamier sat silent. He looked tired 
and worried. The strike was not going well. The patrons 
were getting outside labour; something had to be done. 

Everything was bright and shining. The zinc counter 
was polished to look like silver, the glasses to resemble 
crystal. Outside there was a flutter of green leaves and 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


41 


the chirping of sparrows. It was a year since Margot 
had come to Paris. On the whole it had been a happy 
year. As an education it had been priceless. Now she 
knew the city and its perils and was armoured against 
its temptations. She was equipped to fight the battle. 
She was feeling unusually gay and sang as she waited for 
customers. 

Popol entered. “Ha ! mademoiselle. You are alone. 
You may give me a picon citron.” 

While she was pouring it out he caught her hand. An- 
grily she wrenched it away. 

“Ah! my pretty one,” he sneered. “When are you go- 
ing to be my sweetheart?” 

The exclamation of disgust was no sooner out of her 
mouth than F'lorent Gamier was on his feet. He came 
forward deliberately, and lifting the glass dashed the dark 
liquor in Popol’s face. 

For a moment Popol drew back. He wiped his eyes, 
and glared with surprise and rage; he fumbled at his 
belt, and made a swift dart at Gamier. But the powerful 
artizan was prepared. Swinging a chair round his head 
he brought it crashing down. Popol crumpled up and lay 
still. 

“Did you see him?” said Gamier coolly. “The dog had 
a knife in his hand ; he would have stuck me. He has got 
his medicine. Leave him alone. He’ll come round. I’ll 
take his knife though.” 

When Popol got up, he did not seem much the worse; 
but his yellow face was convulsed and he was as vindic- 
tive as poison. 

“I’ll fix you yet,” he cried. “I’ll pay you both with 
interest, you and your lover. And before many days are 
over. Look out !” 


42 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Did you hear him?” said Gamier when Popol had gone. 

“Yes. He frightens me terribly.” 

“You needn’t fear. You heard him call me your lover. 
Listen, Margot ... let me be your lover, your husband. 
You need some one to protect you. I tell you we’ll be hap- 

py • • ” 

“I know, Florent. I’ve thought of it a lot, but I can’t. 
— I like you. — There’s none I like so well — But I don’t 
love you. Wait awhile. I’ll try to love you. I really 
will. . . .” 

Gamier went sadly away, and some days passed with- 
out his returning. Margot became anxious. Then one 
afternoon Popol entered. Fortunately the Mere Tran- 
quille was in the bar with her. 

“Ha! Ha!” said Popol. “He’s been arrested, that 
pig of a sweetheart of yours. Interfering with the 
strikebreakers. It’s to me he owes it, too. He’ll get a 
year sure. And I haven’t finished yet. It’s your turn 
next time.” 

“Get out of this,” cried madame, “or I’ll smash your 
face with a bottle.” She brandished one ready to throw, 
and Popol with another exultant laugh backed out of the 
door. 

“You mustn’t be afraid of him,” said the Mere Tran- 
quille. 

“I am, — dreadfully. I want to go away. I really do.” 

“I tell you he shan’t harm a hair of your head.” 

“It isn’t only that, madame. You’ve been so good to 
me. . . . I’ll never forget it, but I feel I have been here 
long enough. I don’t like it, — the drinking, the men, — 
I want to be quiet. Before I came to Paris I was learning 
dress-making. I want to go back to that, to live in a 
world of women, and make a living by my needle.” 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


43 


“I quite understand,” said the Mere Tranquille. 
“Listen, my little Margot. I’ve really come to love you 
like a daughter. You’ve changed so wonderfully since 
you came here. You’ve learnt to laugh, to sing. I’ve 
seen the woman dawning in you. . . . It’s finished, I’ve 
sold out at last. I’m taking a little cottage in Normandy 
and you’re coming with me. I’m lonely. I want you. 
You shall be my daughter.” 

“Can it be true?” 

“Yes. In another month it will all be arranged. Then 
no more Paris. The blessed, green country, peace, com- 
fort. I want you to take care of me. I have been tired 
lately, — my heart. In another month, — say you’ll come, 
Margot ?” 

“It seems like a dream.” 

“You’ll come?” 

“Yes, yes! Would that it were to-morrow.” 

The two mingled their tears of happiness and from that 
day spent their time in making plans for the future. The 
cottage was to have a great garden, with apple and pear 
trees. They would keep rabbits and chickens. How 
blessed the country seemed ; how hateful the city ! 

“Margot,” said the Mere Tranquille one day. “Go out 
this afternoon and buy some clothes for the country. 
Here! take this bill of a hundred francs. Just think of 
it ! In another week we’ll be there.” 

The girl did think of it and it filled her with happiness. 
Yet all the time she was going the round of the big shops 
she had a curious foreboding that was realized as she 
returned to the shabby street. Something was wrong; 
the little bar was closed, and a crowd hung around the 
door. 

“What’s the matter?” 


44 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


A gendarme looked at her indifferently. 

“It’s the patronne. She dropped dead quite suddenly. 
Her heart they say. . . 

As she stared in a dazed fashion at the crowd, she 
saw the yellow face of Popol. Terror filled her and she 
shrank away. Slipping into her room by the back 
door, she bundled her few things into a bag and 
stealthily left the house. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


THE BATTLE OF LIFE 

S HE found a little room in that quarter of Paris 
known as the Nation. It was bright and high, and 
open to the sky. During the year she had worked 
in the bar she had saved a few hundred francs, and had 
no immediate anxiety about the future. She decided that 
for a month she would rest and make some new under- 
linen, of which she was sadly in need. 

It was a very happy month for her. She was fond of 
solitude and loved to dream. Sometimes she passed the 
long afternoons 'in the Parc de Vincennes close to the 
water. As she sewed she would watch the children at 
their play. A sweet emotion thrilled her. She pretended 
that she was preparing her trousseau. Who was bride- 
groom to be? Ah! she could not imagine. 

All along her street were makers of furniture, and the 
sight of their workshops made her think of Florent Gar- 
nier. Poor fellow ! He had been given six months. She 
had read all about it in “ Humanite .” 

In these long sunny days she often wondered and wor- 
ried about Cecile. At last she wrote to her grandmother. 
The old woman, who could not use a pen, replied through 
a neighbour that her mother had gone to London taking 
the little girl with her. That settled the matter. Margot 
gave up all hope of seeing her sister again. 

As the weeks passed, and her nerves were tranquilized by 
the sweetness of her life, she began to lose her fear of 

45 


46 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Popol. He became more and more an evil dream. Once 
even she mustered up courage enough to go back to the 
little bar. A fat red-faced man served her with a petit 
noir. He did not recognize her, and a new sense of se- 
curity filled her. 

Then one day as she sat sewing in the Place de la Na- 
tion close to the fountain, she had a violent fright. Sud- 
denly a voice behind her rose to an exultant cry : 

“Well! Well! Here you are. I’ve found you at last.” 

She turned sharply. A man was looking at her in an 
ecstasy of admiration. He was a tubby, rosy little man, 
distinguished only by a waxed moustache and a white 
waistcoat. He was waltzing around her, and rubbing his 
hands excitedly. Yet she was convinced she had never 
seen him before. 

“Sit still, sit still, mademoiselle,” he cried. “ Sapristi ! 
I’ve been looking all over Paris for you. Allow me to in- 
troduce myself.” 

Instead of a card he handed her a small bottle. It 
contained a pink liquid, and on its label she read won- 
deringly : 


Bruneau’s Brilliant Balm. 


“That’s it,” said the little man delightedly. “ ‘B.B.B.’ 
Hit ’em hard with the ‘B.’ I’m Bruneau. Its my inven- 
vention. The finest hair lotion in the world.” 

“But I don’t want it,” protested Margot. 

“No, but it wants you. I want you. Got to have you. 
I want you to advertise the Balm. Sit with your back to 
the window ; hair down, all shining and brushed out. Bot- 
tles of the Balm arranged all about you. Crowds in front 



THE STORY OF MARGOT 47 

of the window all the time. My place is on the Rue de 
Rivoli. Come on, let’s come to terms.” 

“But, I don’t want to do that.” 

“My dear, there’s nothing to do. You just sit there 
from ten till twelve and from two till five. You can sew, 
you can read if you like. No one will see your face. 
You can forget there’s a crowd watching you. It’s a soft 
thing, and I’ll pay you better than if you were doing real 
work. Come now, twenty francs a day. You really have 
no right to refuse.” 

“No,” she thought, “I have no right to refuse.” Then 
aloud, “Very well, I’ll try it.” 

The following day she went to the hair-dresser’s shop 
and put herself in the delighted hands of Monsieur Bru- 
neau. The little man considered himself an artist, as 
every man should, however humble his vocation. He ar- 
ranged Margot’s hair with reverence, washing, perfuming, 
and brushing it until it was like a mantle of spun gold. 

When she took her place in the window, he placed 
a small mirror so that she could see all the faces in the 
crowd without being seen herself. This amused her. She 
never wearied of watching the thousands of admiring eyes 
she saw reflected daily in the mirror. It gave her a sense 
of pride, of elation. Over her was placed a placard which 
read: 


The most beautiful hair in Paris. 
The result of using 
Bruneau’s Brilliant Balm. 


As the days went by the little man with the waistcoat 
became more and more enraptured. The Balm was sell- 


48 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


ing so fast that he could not have it bottled quickly 
enough. He was obliged to extend his laboratory, as he 
called the back shop where it was prepared, and employ 
a traveller selling it to the wholesale trade. He had also 
an advertising contract with the newspapers. Then quite 
suddenly he lost his demonstrator. 

Margot was gazing idly at her little mirror, when she 
saw a face there that seemed to stop the beating of her 
heart. It was a hairless yellow face, with rattlesnake 
eyes. It was a cruel, cunning face set in a malignant 
grin, the face of the hunter who has tracked his prey — 
Popol ! 

As she left the shop he was waiting for her and walked 
along with her. 

“Aren’t you going to take me home with you?” he 
asked. 

She stopped. “Are you ever going to leave me alone?” 

“No,” he sneered, “I’ve been to too much trouble to 
find you. Listen, little one. I want you. I’ve always 
wanted you since you stood me off. Now I’m going to 
have you. No use your struggling. Popol always gets 
what he wants. If I can’t get you by fair means, I’ll get 
you by foul. With my pals I’ll carry you off some night. 
You are all alone now, no one to defend you. If you make 
any trouble, I’ll simply kill you.” 

“Will you leave me? If you don’t stop talking to me, 
I’ll appeal to this sergent de ville .” 

She went up to the policeman ; he listened to her, twist- 
ing a huge moustache that sprouted from a very red 
face. 

“Don’t worry, mademoiselle,” he said finally, “the mon- 
sieur only wants to be amiable.” Yet, he waved a warn- 
ing hand at Popol. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


49 


Popol crossed to the other side of the street and Mar- 
got hurried on. But no matter how fast she walked, how 
many sharp turns she took or how many side streets she 
entered, Popol was always there. How could she get rid 
of him? Just as she was at her wit’s end she found her- 
self at an entrance of the Metro. Quick as a flash she 
darted down the steps. 

A train was at the station and she jumped into a first 
class carriage. The sliding door closed; she had given 
him the slip. 

But at the next station he got into her coach. He had 
caught the last of the second class carriages. He grinned 
at her from the other side of the compartment, but did 
not speak. She despaired of being able to shake him off ; 
she was helpless. 

When they stopped at the next station she was 
standing close to the door; near her was a white-haired 
old gentleman with the Legion of Honour in his button 
hole. As the train was starting again, she suddenly cried: 

“Mon Dieu! it’s my station. Let me get off.” 

The automatic doors were already closing but the old 
man held them back. “Quick, madame.” She slipped be- 
tween them and they shut behind her like a trap. She 
was safe on the platform. She saw Popol make frantic 
efforts to get off and an irate official who was only too 
glad of an opportunity to assert his authority, push him 
back. As the train glided into the tunnel she had a part- 
ing glimpse of his face snarling with rage. 

She took a return train and hurried home. She could 
not go back to Bruneau’s, she decided, but must seek 
other work. The next morning she did not stir from the 
house, and about midday the little hair-dresser called, 
anxiety written on his face. He begged, he coaxed ; but 


50 THE POISONED PARADISE 

to all his entreaties she was deaf ; he went away discon- 
solate. 

She had been working for nearly two months and had 
saved over five hundred francs. She could afford to wait 
a few days before looking for something else to do. She 
felt very happy, very safe up her six flights of stairs. 
Very much like a bird, so near the sky ! She sang in the 
sunshine. Taking her work she seated herself at the win- 
dow and looked down into the street. Then quickly she 
shrank back. There on the opposite pavement was Po- 
pol. He was looking up and had seen her. Fool that she 
was to think she could evade him. Of course he had got 
her address at the hair-dresser’s. There was no escaping 
him. At least she would make another attempt. That 
night, seeing that the coast was clear, she hurried to 
the Gare de Lyon and took a ticket for a station selected 
at random. It turned out to be a remote village in 
the Jura. 

Every morning she awakened to the mellow sound of 
cow-bells, and standing at her window breathed the pure, 
delicious air. Beyond the mountain was Switzerland. She 
longed to go further, to travel. If ever she had money 
enough she would go to the south, to the sunshine, to 
Monte Carlo. She would try her luck. Perhaps she 
would be as successful as the Mere Tranquille had been. 
When her money came to an end, she returned to Paris 
with memories of huge green valleys, of crystal brooks, 
and of deep solemn pine woods. 

The next year was a very hard and checkered one. She 
first got a place in the workshop of a big dress-maker, — 
Plumeau’s. She had not been there long when one 
evening Monsieur Plumeau called her into his private 
office# He was a white-haired old man, very well-dressed. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


51 


He told her politely that it was the privilege of his pret- 
tiest employees to dine with him occasionally. He called 
the directress. 

“Select for Mademoiselle a robe that suits her,” he 
then said to the girl. “We will have dinner to-night at 
the Cafe de Paris.” He seemed to take it for granted she 
would accept, and was quite amazed when she walked out 
with head held high. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“So much the worse,” he said. “Dismiss her.” 

Margot was given an envelope with her week’s pay and 
told to look for another place. 

It was more difficult to find this time, for she had no 
reference from Plumeau’s. She was forced finally to seek 
employment in a great barrack-like building that em- 
ployed three thousand girls. It was the workshop of one 
of the great stores on the Boulevard Haussmann, and was 
conducted with military severity. Her hours were from 
eight in the morning until a quarter past six in the eve- 
ning. The work was hard and monotonous; the pay just 
enough to cover her simple living expenses. 

For long months she slaved with her needle, never 
getting ahead. She became shabby, tired, faint-hearted. 
When her holiday of ten days came around she had not 
enough money to go away and spent the time in her room. 
There were girls around her coquettishly dressed, 
with men who waited for them every evening. That was 
all right ; nobody minded a girl having an ami who helped 
her. There were some, however, more elegantly clad 
who were considered scarcely respectable. Of such a one 
it was whispered: “ Elle fait sa tappe sur le Boulevard .” 
Margot made no friends amongst the other girls and 
was always alone. 

So passed a year ; then to her delight she got a position 


52 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


with a milliner on the Boulevard Saint Michel. Over the 
door was the name, “Folette.” Everybody stopped to 
look at the window, her hats were so dainty, so daring. 
She was renowned for her chic, and even sober men whose 
interests were far removed from feminine millinery, 
stopped and stared at her latest creations. Below the 
shop was the workshop. The girls sat on either side of 
a long table with boxes of feathers, ribbands, flowers be- 
side them. They sewed, pieced, and basted, chattering 
happily the while. From time to time Madame Folette 
would descend to criticise and give suggestions ; she en- 
couraged them to develope their own ideas, to be creative. 

The girl had been there eighteen months, when, one 
day, Madame Folette descended to the atelier . 

“Margot, I want to speak to you.” 

“Yes, madame.” 

“How would you like to serve in the shop? I want a 
saleswoman to assist me. You have learnt all there is to 
learn in the making of hats. You should now learn to 
sell them.” 

“Madame is too kind.” 

“Not at all. I have chosen you, because you are the 
prettiest girl in the atelier. You have the most beautiful 
hair I ever saw. You will buy a nice-fitting black-silk 
dress, black-silk stockings and little slippers of black 
patent leather. Black will show off your soft complexion 
and your pale-gold hair.” 

Margot hastened to express her joy and the change was 
made. By day she dusted and arranged the stock and 
waited on the customers in the white panelled little shop 
usually flooded with sunshine. She was very happy. At 
night she returned to her tiny room under the mansarde 
of a house on the Boulevard du Montparnasse. Her 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


53 


window opened on a small balcony where she grew sweet 
peas and nasturtiums. She had a gay canary that came 
out of its cage and hopped on her finger. She cooked 
dainty dishes in snowy enamel ware. It was quite a 
radiant little interior. 

She was more than usually happy one Sunday, and 
sang as she dressed. She had an engagement with a girl 
called Jeanne, who was premier at the atelier of Madame 
Folette. The two had decided to take a little shop 
on the Boulevard below, and start in business for them- 
selves. Jeanne was a steady, clever girl who thoroughly 
understood the running of a workshop. She was to make 
the hats, Margot to sell them. They had savings 
enough to start. Margot was thinking over their plans 
and singing happily when the laundress arrived with her 
week’s washing. As she took it from the parcel she 
noticed an odour of phenol. 

“What a horrid smell,” she thought. Then she changed 
the sheets on her bed, and went off forgetting all about it. 

The week passed as usual, but towards its end Margot 
began to feel strangely tired. She struggled with her 
growing fatigue for two days, then Madame Folette said 
to her: 

“Margot, you’re looking ghastly. What’s the mat- 
ter?” 

“I don’t know, madame. I am so cold I shiver all the 
time.” 

“You had better go home and go to bed.” 

“Very well, madame. No doubt I will be better to- 
morrow.” 

On the morrow Margot was worse, and within two days 
she had to ask the concierge to call the doctor. He looked 
a little puzzled when he examined her, but prescribed a 


54 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


treatment, and said he would call again later. On his 
third visit a curious red rash covered her. 

“Hum!” he said, “I’m afraid it’s scarlet fever.” 

On his next visit he was still more puzzled and asked 
her many searching questions. He went away looking 
very serious indeed. All that day Margot waited, 
anxious and unhappy. The red spots developed in the 
strangest manner. When the doctor returned late at 
night and saw them something like a shudder passed 
over him. He drew on his gloves hastily. 

“There’s nothing to do, mademoiselle. I am going to 
the Institute Pasteur. They will send an ambulance first 
thing in the morning. You are lucky that I can get you 
in. You will get better attention there than anywhere 
else.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“You mustn’t worry. It is most unfortunate. It must 
have been those clothes from the laundry. I am going 
straight to the police. Please wait patiently till the am- 
bulance comes. Don’t be alarmed.” 

“But, doctor, tell me, for the love of God ! What have 
I got?” 

He looked around as if to be sure there were no lis- 
teners, then said slowly: 

“My poor girl, I may be mistaken but I think it’s . . .” 

She gazed at him with eyes that were strained with 
horror. 

“Oh, no, doctor, don’t tell me it’s that . . .” she 
gasped. 

But the physician had gone and she fell back on her 
bed. She was dazed. It was unthinkable. Then as her 
mind began to grasp the truth, despair fell on her. 

“Oh, it’s cruel,” she moaned. “I have worked so hard 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


55 


and kept honest, jet everything goes against me. I ask 
so little, yet always when I am about to better myself, 
something terrible happens. Oh, Life, Life! You’re hard 
on me . . . you’re hurting me so. . . .” 

What was the use of struggling? She would let herself 
die. If only she had some veronal she would take a fatal 
dose. . . . 

“But, no,” she cried, courage coming back to her. 
“I’ve fought all along and I’ll die fighting. I’ll laugh 
to the end. ... I will be the victor. . . .” 

Worn out she sank into a troubled sleep. 

When she woke it was to hear her little clock strike 
two. How long the night was! Would the dawn never 
come? The dawn with the ambulance! What was that 
about an ambulance? No, it was all a dream, an evil 
dream — what the doctor had told her. She would sleep 
again. She was so tired, so tired. . . . 

Was that something moving out in the hall? The 
house was very quiet. What strange fancies she had. 
She must be going mad. . . . Was that fancy again? — 
that noise outside? And there . . . her door was open- 
ing very softly. No, she was not mad. It was really 
moving. With straining eyes she watched. ... A dark 
form filled the doorway, and a man’s figure slipped into 
the room. She stifled a scream of terror. 

Her chamber was lit by a small night-lamp turned very 
low, but she knew only too well that large yellow, hairless 
face. Popol! This was another of these evil dreams. 
Then she heard him speak. 

“Well, my pretty one, at last.” 

He looked at her, his face full of gloating triumph. He 
locked the door, and gave a chuckling laugh. 

“Now I’ve got you, my chicken. Ha! Ha! no one gets 


56 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


away from Popol. He’s sure, is Popol. Once he gets 
on the trail he never gives up. It’s been a long trail, 
my beauty, but now . . 

Suddenly his voice grew thick with fury. 

“Now I’ll teach you who’s your master. You’ll be 
glad to kiss my dirty boots before I’ve done with you. 
Ah, you needn’t squeal for help. No one will hear you ; 
I’ve planned well. I have taken the room next to 
yours. Been there since Saturday. There are no other 
neighbours, and the people in the flat below are in the 
country. You are absolutely at my mercy, — in my 
power.” 

He was in no hurry. From behind his ear he took 
a cigarette and lit it at the little night-lamp. The girl 
watched him, fascinated as a bird is by a snake. He en- 
joyed her terror, and prolonged it. Then passion seized 
him. He gripped her by the arm. At last she found her 
voice. 

“No, no,” she gasped. “Spare me. Have pity. I will 
give you all the money I have. Here ! Take this !” 

From under her pillow she drew her purse and thrust 
it at him. He snatched it with a laugh, looked inside, and 
put it carefully in his pocket. 

“That’s all right,” he jeered; “I expect you’ll make 
lots more for me in days to come. Yes, I’ll have your 
money, and, by God, I’ll have you too. . . .” 

With a leap he had her in his powerful grip and the 
struggle began. He held her arms so that she could not 
move them, and pressed his coarse lips to her face. At 
their touch madness seized her. She bit fiercely into the 
flabby fold of his cheek. With a snarl of pain he released 
her. 

“You little devil, I’ll kill you for this.” 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


57 


Once more he sprang at her, held her down. She felt 
her strength leave her. She could resist no more. She 
was fainting. . . . Then suddenly she remembered. . . . 

“Stop!” she cried; “Stop for your own sake! Can’t 
you see I’m ill? Can’t you see what is the matter?” 

Something in her voice arrested him. He drew back. 
There was a long tense pause. Slowly he turned up the 
light. Then ... he grew limp with terror. He looked 
closely and shrank back. 

“No, no,” he gasped hoarsely. “Not that?” 

“Yes, that!” she screamed. “And now you’ll have it 
too. Oh, brute, brute! You can kill me if you like. I 
have had my revenge. They’re coming with the ambu- 
lance, coming even now. You hear, it’s the smallpox , 
you dog ! The smallpox. . . .” 

But Popol did not want to kill her. Gazing at her 
with horror-stricken eyes he backed to the door. 

“Yes,” she exulted, “You can kiss me now. It will 
make more sure, or rather see. ... I am coming to kiss 
you.” 

She made a move as if to rise and follow him but he 
did not wait. He reeled through the door, pulling it to 
behind him. She heard him stumbling down the dark 
narrow stairs, blubbering like a child. 

“Oh, it’s awful,” he cried. “I can’t stand it. I’m not 
a sound man. It will kill me. It will kill me.” 

And Popol was right. It did. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


PHANTOM FORTUNE 


1 



S she shrank back into the remote corner of the 


first class compartment, Margot sighed pro- 


foundly. She had been thinking of the strange 
events of the past month and of the bewildering turn in 
her fortunes. 

When she had been released from the hospital, some 
three months before, she was still very week. During her 
illness a religious sisterhood had nursed her with devo- 
tion; a famous physician had personally attended her; a 
great Institute had exhausted its skill in her behalf. She 
was a record case, they said, — not a trace of the disease 
showed. She wanted to return to Folette’s and begin 
work at once, but Madame would not hear of it. “No, 
my dear, you’re too shaky. You need a good long rest 
in the country, two months at least. If you have no 
money I will lend you some.” 

So Margot borrowed five hundred francs and went to 
Barbizon. There in a cottage on the edge of the forest, 
she slowly regained her strength. Then she returned 
to Paris. 

One afternoon, a few days before she had arranged to 
return to the modiste's, she decided she would like to visit 
the grave of the Mere Tranquille. Once more she sought 
the little bar on the Rue du Belville. As she entered she 


58 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


59 


had a curious feeling that she had never been away ; the fat 
red-faced man was still reading a paper behind the zinc 
counter. When she asked where her old friend was buried, 
he put down his paper and stared at her. 

“You don’t happen to be the girl who worked here?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Margot Leblanc?” 

“The same, I assure you.” 

The fat man brought down his fist with a thump on 
the counter. 

“Sapristi! Why, every one thinks you are dead. The 
lawyers sought you high and low ; you seemed to have 
vanished off the earth. Didn’t you know the old woman 
left you a heritage?” 

“No. Is it true?” 

“Assuredly. Not much; but to a girl like you, it will 
be very welcome. Here, I’ll give you the address of the 
lawyers and you can go and see them at once.” 

She lost no time. The result was that in due course 
she received her legacy. After settling all expenses and 
paying every debt, she found herself the possessor of a 
little over three thousand francs. Never before had she 
owned anything like such an amount. To her it seemed 
riches. At first she thought she would carry out her plan 
of taking a little shop with Jeanne. But the winter 
was coming on, the cold, grey, cruel winter; time enough 
for the little shop in the spring. A sudden distaste for 
Paris possessed her. Then one day as she was passing 
the window of a tourist agency she stopped to stare at 
a vivid poster depicting a sea of turquoise blue, a ter- 
raced town that seemed carved from ivory, a back- 
ground of amethystine mountain, palms, pigeons, gor- 
geous flowers. Underneath was the name — Monte Carlo. 


60 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


It came like an inspiration; she would go there. With a 
sense of great daring she packed her basket-valise, said 
good-bye to Madame Folette and Jeanne, and took the 
train. 

2 . 

As she sat alone in the corner of her compartment, 
thes^ events passed through her mind and she sighed 
deeply. She felt very lonely, rather frightened. She 
blamed herself for having bought a first class ticket at 
Marseilles, but the journey in the crowded second-class 
from Paris had so fatigued her that she had decided to 
be extravagant. 

Even in her jaded state the scenery seemed to her to be 
of dreamlike beauty. It was not until Nice had been 
reached that its too exorbitant claims on her admiration 
began to weary her. They must be very close now. It 
was long, that journey, especially when one has been so 
ill. She must tidy up a bit. She rose and began to ar- 
range her hair, that stupid hair of which she had so much. 
It tumbled turbulently down and she had to take out all 
her hair-pins and let it fall around her like a golden 
shower. As she looked up apprehensively, she saw a 
young man staring at her from the corridor. She was 
vexed. She caught the mutinous tresses hurriedly and 
bunched them around her head. When she had finished 
with her pins and combs, she looked around again. The 
young man had gone. 

She liked the Pension which had been recommended 
to her, because every one left her alone. The first day 
she gave to exploring the gardens and getting her bear- 
ings ; the second she presented herself at the Casino and 
asked for a card. Fortunately, she had been warned that 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


61 


on no account must she divulge the fact that she worked. 
It is significant that a woman who earns her living 
honestly is refused admission to the Casino while a 
prostitute is welcomed. The administration knows that 
the small wage earner brings little grist to their mill, 
while the demi-mondaine plays their game. Margot filled 
in her application with the usual phrase : “ Sans occupa- 

tion” 

Although she had made up her mind to gamble she was 
more than prudent. For the first week she did nothing 
but watch the tables with concentrated attention; then 
she bought a note-book with shiny covers and began to 
take down numbers. She would stand by a table for two 
or three hours, until her column of figures was quite a 
long one. Then, finding a quiet seat in the Cafe de Paris, 
she would sip a cup of chocolate and study them. She 
felt encouraged by the fact that a number of women, with 
negligible capital, were undoubtedly making a living at 
the Casino. Shabby, anxious creatures she saw them hov- 
ering like hawks over the tables, waiting to get in on “a 
safe thing,” and going away finally with a few pieces of 
gain. They had lived thus for years. 

“Surely,” she thought, “with two thousand francs of 
capital, I can win a louis a day.” 

The next step was to make up her mind how she would 
play. She must adopt a method, and concentrate on it. 
After long reflection she decided that the most cautious 
way of playing was to stake on two of the three 
dozens. In this way she would only have one dozen 
against her. From the examination of her figures, and the 
columns of permanencies published in a paper whose 
colour was the green of hope, she found that the first 
dozen seemed to come a little less frequently than the 


62 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


other two, and that it had a greater tendency to repeat. 
Here was a hint for her. She would wait until the 
first dozen had asserted itself strongly, then, as it were, 
retired exhausted. She would put five francs on the sec- 
ond and five francs on the third dozen. She would be 
covering thus twenty-four of the thirty-six numbers. If 
either of her two dozens w T on, she would receive fifteen 
francs, a gain of five francs. As soon as she had won four 
times, and had made a louis, she would stop. She further- 
more decided that she would always play a flat stake, and 
would never make a progression. In the long run a pro- 
gression was always fatal. If she lost a louis on any one 
day, she would stop for that day and not court disaster 
by trying to retrieve her losses. 

As she pressed through the crowd and put her first 
stake on the table, she felt her heart beat wildly. She 
thought every one was watching her. 

“Here is a new one,” she imagined them saying. “An- 
other poor little chicken come to be plucked. Look how 
her hand trembles as she puts her two white counters on 
the table. One would imagine she was playing for thou- 
sands.” 

But after all every one was absorbed in the game, and 
no one paid any attention to her. The ball spun around. 
She had won. 

“Ah!” she thought, “it is always specially arranged 
that the beginner wins.” 

And she played again with more confidence. The player 
has the advantage over the bank in that he may select 
his moment of play. (Unfortunately he generally selects 
the wrong moment.) Margot waited for what seemed to 
her a favourable moment and staked again. Again she 
won. Her second and third coups were equally successful. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


63 


She was strangely elated, far more so than the extent of 
her gain really warranted. She had been excited and 
anxious before, now a happy reaction set in. She changed 
the white counters she had gained for a twenty franc bill, 
which she regarded with a rare pleasure. How strange 
to make money so easily ! Playing as prudently as this it 
did not seem possible to lose. Just think! if she had only 
played with louis-stakes instead of five franc ones. . . . 
Or even with hundred franc placques. ... A sudden 
vision of fortune dazzled her. “If . . .” Ah ! that preg- 
nant “if” that gamblers use in victory and defeat. The 
tragedy of that “if.” The virus was already in her veins, 
and she went home to dream of whirring roulette wheels 
and the smiles of fortune. 

She awaited the second day with a passion of eager- 
ness. But alas ! things did not go so well. When she had 
made three wins she had a loss. With chagrin she watched 
her two pieces swept away. She was now only one ahead. 
She won her next three coups, however, and retired with 
her louis of gain. 

The third day she had a hard fight. It was as if the 
Casino had said : “Tut ! Tut ! we must not let this slip 
of a girl get our money so easily. We must begin to 
baulk her a bit.” 

She played all morning and afternoon, winning and 
losing, and winning again. Try as she would, she could 
not get them to give her a louis. At seven o’clock she 
retired from the fight, only a poor five francs the winner. 
She was fearfully tired, her head ached, and the smile of 
fortune seemed transformed into the wryest of grins. 

The fourth day she had no trouble and her confidence 
came back. But the fifth . . . the first dozen came up 
seven times running and broke to the third. By all the 


64 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


laws of average it was due to rest a bit and allow the 
equilibrium to establish itself. It was, therefore, with a 
confidence almost insolent, that the girl staked on the 
second and third dozen. She was so sure of winning that 
she felt as if the money were already in her hands, and 
did not even wait to watch the spinning wheel. She 
had reached down to secure her winnings when to her 
surprise she saw both her stakes being raked in. The 
number two had declared itself. 

Next time it would come right, and again she staked 
on the second and third dozen. She waited almost list- 
lessly. To her dismay she saw her stakes swept off a 
second time. There must be a mistake. ... No, 
the ball was resting in the slot marked twelve. 

She sat down on one of the leather-padded lounges. It 
was not the money she had lost that worried her, but the 
fact that her system had proven untrustworthy. She 
hated to be beaten like that. A mixture of resentment 
and anger dominated her, — a mood most dangerous to a 
gambler. She rose, and going back to the table put one 
louis on the second dozen and another on the third. She 
won. She had regained all that she had lost. 

She did not play any more that day. She went to the 
Cafe de Paris, and, having ordered a jug of choco- 
late, sat down to think. It was evident that to gain four 
straight wins every day, was too great a strain on her 
system. Well, then, instead of playing four coups with 
five francs each time, why not play a single coup with a 
louis for the stake? In this way she would not tire her- 
self out with long play, nor exhaust her luck. Accord- 
ingly the next day she began playing on these lines. 

For a time all went well. She found that with average 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


65 


luck she won three times out of four. Then a spell of 
bad luck set in, and in spite of the care with which she 
played she found her gains were reduced to two out of 
three. This left her no profit. She must do something to 
raise her average. She thought the matter over. If she 
had to have a certain proportion of losses, why not let 
them be fictitious ones? Why not let her losses be made 
with imaginary stakes and her gains with real ones? She 
made up her mind that, playing with her usual care, she 
would wait until she had lost twice in her head, before 
playing on the table a third time for a win. It needed 
lots of patience; often she had to wait for two hours 
before her chance came, but with this method she won 
three times out of four. However to develop a system in 
theory and put it into practice are two very different 
things. To play a system one must be as emotionless 
as a machine; systems make no allowance for human 
passion and impulse, and this she soon found to her cost. 

It happened one day that, when she went to the Rooms 
in the afternoon, she staked as usual a louis on the second 
and another on the third dozen, after having watched the 
wheel for awhile. The number eleven came up. Now ac- 
cording to her system she should have called her day a 
loss and gone home. But on this particular afternoon her 
mood was mutinous. She determined to try again. She 
re-staked in the same fashion, and the eleven repeated. 
She was furious with herself for being so weak and foolish. 
It would take her four days to regain her losses. It was 
too tedious, too discouraging. Well, it could not be 
helped now. She walked to the door, but just as she 
reached it she hesitated. Her irritation grew. No, she 
would not let them beat her. Going back to the table 


66 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


she fumbled in her bag and drew forth two notes of a 
hundred francs each. She handed them to the croupier. 

“Second and third dozen, please.” 

She was strangely calm now, but she could not bear 
to see the ball spin. She turned and went to another 
table, pretending to watch the play there. She forbade 
herself to look back, then when she heard the ball drop, 
she glanced round. The croupiers were cleaning up the 
tables, but the rake swung clear of the hundred francs 
she had put on the middle dozen. She had won. 

Again she snatched victory from defeat. She had re- 
trieved her losses and had a louis to boot. But strange 
to say she f£lt no elation. She had been reckless and 
risked two hundred francs. It must not happen again, 
she told herself. 

It was soon evident that if her average wins were 
three out of four, with a stake of two louis, and she made 
only one coup, her gains would only aggregate five 
francs a day. That would never do. After much re- 
flection and analysis of her figures, she decided to play 
with placques of a hundred francs each. In this way she 
would gain a hundred francs every four days; and even, 
if she allowed five francs for a possible zero every time 
she played, she would still make her louis a day. This 
was the plan she finally adopted. Her system, in short, 
was to play only a flat stake, never a progression. She 
played only one coup a day, stopping if she lost, and took 
two fictitious losses before actually playing on the table. 
She played a hundred francs on the second, and a hun- 
dred francs on the third dozen after an exhausted run of 
the first dozen. She put five francs on zero. 

It was very much like hard work, and needed both pa- 
tience and judgment, but it was possible for her to go on 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


67 


playing this system for six months without mishap, and 
in the end just about even up. 


3 . 

One day as she was eating a hurried luncheon she no- 
ticed a young man reading by the window. His hair was 
ash blonde, brushed glossily back, his face thin, sensi- 
tive, and browned by the sun. When he smiled at Terese, 
the waitress, his teeth were milk-white, and very regular. 
His eyes should have been blue, but were of a dark, velvety 
brown. An extraordinary good-looking boy, she thought, 
with an air of refinement, of race. He looked up and 
caught her eye ; immediately she looked down. 

She had seen him before, she fancied, but where? Then 
she rememberd the young man who had stared at her in 
the train. It was strange she should meet him again. 

She saw him often afterwards in the gardens, walking 
hatless, with his head held high. He never went to the 
Casino, and seemed very gay and happy. It was easy to 
see he was well off, and had not a care in the world. Once 
he passed her as she was on her way to her room, but 
•shyness came over her and she did not glance at him. 
He looked so proud ; he must be at least the son of an 
English lord. Why then should she, daughter of a 
French head-waiter and an English barmaid, be even on 
bowing terms with him? 

Then something happened that quite drove him out of 
her thoughts. For ten days she had been playing her 
system without even a loss, gaining nearly a thousand 
francs. Her winnings so far had more than paid her mod- 
est expenses. When she entered the Casino on Christmas 
morning she had four bills of a thousand francs each in her 


68 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


bag. She had also a letter from Jeanne. Jeanne knew 
of such a nice little shop on the Boulevard Raspail. It 
would be empty by the January term and, if Margot was 
willing, they would each put in two thousand francs and 
take it. Jeanne wanted an answer at once. Margot was 
very happy. She would tell Jeanne to take the shop, and 
she herself would return to Paris shortly after the begin- 
ning of the new year. She was sorry to think of leaving 
Monte Carlo, and to give up roulette ; the keen shifts and 
stresses of the game intrigued her and she loved that mo- 
ment of emotion just before the ball dropped. Then the 
thought came to her: Why not experience a moment of 
more intense emotion than she had ever known? She had 
a thousand francs of the bank’s money that she did not 
absolutely need. Why not risk it? If she could win 
with bills of a hundred, why not with notes of a thousand? 
She watched the table until the opportunity came. She 
placed five hundred francs on the second dozen, and five 
hundred on the third, then with an air of unconcern fell 
to regarding one of the pictures on the wall. It was a 
painting of Watteau-like delicacy, representing autumn; 
falling leaves, gallants and ladies of the court. . . . 

“Rien ne va plus." 

Would the ball never drop? She heard it knocking about 
among the diamond-shaped brass projections. Then si- 
lence, and . . . zero. 

Oh, what a fool she had been! For the first time in 
weeks she had forgotten to cover zero. And for the first 
time in weeks she had encountered it. She hated the calm 
croupier who raked in her thousand francs. There was 
something so ruthless, so inexorable in the way he did it. 
A dull rage filled her. She seemed to be impelled by 
something stronger than herself. She took from her bag 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


69 


a second note of a thousand francs and played it as be- 
fore. No, she would not stake on zero. The chances of 
it repeating were a thousand to one. . . . Zero ! again! 

It could not be possible ! As she saw another thousand 
swept away she felt physically sick. She sat down on a 
lounge, dazed, stunned. The impassive croupiers seemed 
suddenly to become mocking satyrs, the great guilded hall, 
pitiless, cruel. She watched a little hunch-backed 
croupier spin the wheel by its brass handle; he flipped 
the ivory sphere in the other direction in a careless, 
casual manner. The girl started up. It was as if she 
were an automaton, moved by some force outside of 
her will. Taking a third thousand franc bill from 
her bag, she staked it in the same way as before. No use 
to stake on zero this time. The chance of its coming up 
a third time was a million to one. She saw the ball go 
scuttling among the brass knobs ; she heard a great mur- 
mur from the gazing crowd; all eyes turned admiringly 
to the little hunchback who tried to look as if he had 
done it on purpose. . . . ZERO ! 

She walked away. A bitter recklessness had seized her. 
She took out her remaining thousand franc bill. She 
would risk it anywhere, anyhow. A red haired man was 
coming in at the door. That was an inspiration. She 
would play on the red and leave it for a paroli. She went 
over to the nearest croupier and handed him her bill. 

“Rouge, please.” 

But the croupier misunderstood. He put the bill on 
black, looking at her for approval. After all, what did 
it matter? Let it remain on black. She nodded and 
black it was. Once more the ball whizzed dizzily round 
and dropped into its slot. Rouge. 

She had lost. In less than four minutes she had lost 


70 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


four thousand francs. She pulled down her veil and 
walked out of the gambling rooms. Her legs were weak 
under her and she felt faint. She sat down on a bench in 
the atrium. It could not be true ! She must have dreamt 
it. She opened her hand-bag of shabby black leather 
and searched feverishly. All she found was about thirty 
francs. 

She was broke. 


CHAPTER SIX 


DERELICT 

1 . 

T HEN began the great struggle of Margot Leblanc 
to regain the money she had lost. It was a 
pitiable, pathetic struggle, full of desperate hope. 
Starting with ten francs, she sought to win back the two 
thousand needed to buy the shop with Jeanne. She kept 
her room at the pension, but gave up taking her meals 
there. Instead she had a cup of coffee and a roll in a 
cheap cafe in the Condamine. She would do without sleep, 
she told herself ; she would be shabby and shiver with cold 
. . . but she would win back that money ! 

Every morning she took her place among that weird 
and shabby mob of women who storm the Casino doors at 
opening time, and scramble for places at the tables, 
hoping to sell them in the afternoon to some prosperous 
player. The Casino, which had been the cause of their 
ruin, lets them thus eke out a miserable existence. Thread- 
bare creatures with vulturish faces, they hang over the 
tables, quick-clawed to clutch up the stakes of the unwary. 

Margot was glad of every opportunity to make a little 
money by selling her place. It meant the price of a 
square meal: spaghetti, and salad and cheese, in a cheap 
Italian restaurant in Beausoleil. Otherwise, when an in- 
creasing dizziness warned her that she had not yet broken 
her fast, she had to seek a quiet corner of the gardens, 

71 


72 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


and lunch on a bit of chocolate and some bread. Then 
she would hurry back to the Casino, fearful that in her 
absence a chance had come up to make a few francs. 

It was a weary, anxious existence. Sometimes indeed 
she got down to her last five francs before a sudden turn 
of luck exalted her again to the heights of hope. The 
effect on her nerves was terrible. Her nights became 
haunted. Roulette wheels whirled before her closed eyes 
and she often dreamed of a mighty one that turned into 
a great whirlpool, in which she and all the other players 
were spinning around helplessly. And always, just as 
6he was being sucked down into the vortex, she awoke. 


2 . 

One evening as she sat in a corner of the gardens, 
silent and absorbed, a man approached her. He was dark 
and weedy, and his eyebrows twitched up and down con- 
tinually. She recognized him as one of her fellow-lodgers 
at the pension, and she had heard him addressed as Mon- 
sieur Martel. After looking sharply at her, he took a 
seat by her side. 

“Had any luck lately?” he asked with that freemasonry 
of gamblers that permits of a promiscuous conversation. 

Silently she shook her head. 

He lighted a cigarette. “It’s a cruel game,” he ob- 
served. “God help the poor pikers who haven’t enough 
capital to defend themselves. I had a hard fight to-day. 
I was obliged to play a martingale up to five thousand 
francs, all to win a wretched louis. But I got out all 
right. I imagine you have not been very successful your- 
self lately. I have seen you losing.” 

She nodded. He drew comfortably nearer. 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


73 


“Well, that’s too bad. By the way, if I can be of any 
help to you, give you any advice ... I have a consider- 
able knowledge of the game. . . .” 

She laughed bitterly. “I, too, Monsieur, have a con- 
siderable knowledge of the game. But there . . . that 
is all the capital I have in the world, ten francs.” 

She held out two white chips in her shabby, gloved hand. 
He noted the smallness of the hand, and the glimpse of 
milkwhite wrist between the glove and the threadbare 
jacket. He drew nearer still. 

“Ah ! it’s hopeless,” he said, “when one gets down so 
low. Why not let me make you a loan? I shall never 
miss it. You can repay me out of your winnings. Let 
me lend you a trifle, say five hundred.” 

She looked at him steadily for a moment. “But I have 
no security to give you,” she said at last. 

He laughed easily. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Of 
course, we are speaking as one Monte Carloite to another. 
We understand each other. If I am nice to you, you will 
be nice to me. My room at the pension is number four- 
teen. If you come down and see me this evening I have 
no doubt we can arrange matters.” 

She rose. In the shadow he could not see the loathing 
in her eyes. These men . . . they were all alike. Beasts ! 
She left him without a word. 

He waited in his room that night, wondering if she 
would come. She did not. He went off to the Casino 
laughing comfortably. Life was a great game. 

“If it isn’t to-night,” he said to himself, “it will be to- 
morrow or the day after. A little more hunger, a little 
more despair. I have but to wait. She will come to me. 
If she doesn’t, what matter? There are lots of others.” 


74 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


3 . 

Some days later she sat in her room staring at her 
face in the cheap mirror. There were dark circles around 
her weary eyes. Her cheeks were thinned to pathetic 
hollows, her mouth drooped with despair and defeat. 
The Casino had beaten her. She was sick, weak, 
nervously unstrung. Try as she would she could not get 
back her old healthy view of life; that was the worst of 
it. Gambling had poisoned the very blood in her veins. 

She had no money to take her back to Paris, even if 
she were willing to go, and she felt she would rather die 
than write and ask for help. Then to take up the burden 
of labour again, the life of struggle without hope and with 
misery to crown it all, . . . Ah ! she knew it so well. She 
had seen too many of her comrades fight and fall. Must 
she too work as they worked, until her strength was ex- 
hausted and she perished in poverty? 

There was death, of course! Only last week a young 
girl, after pawning all her trinkets, shot herself under 
the railway bridge. She would do better than that; she 
had some little white powders. 

Then there was the compromise. Why not? Who 
under the circumstances would dare to tell her that death 
was better than dishonour? And yet . . . she hated to 
think of doing it. She preferred to steal. Funny, wasn’t 
it? Her sense of morality was curious. She would rather 
be a thief than a harlot. 

But she had no chance to be a thief. It would have to 
be the other thing. Rising she put rouge on her ghastly 
cheeks then rubbed it off again. No, not just yet! She 
would ask the young man for the five hundred francs. If 
he demanded the quid pro quo she would beg him to wait 


THE STORY OF MARGOT 


75 


until to-morrow. Then she would go to the Casino and 
risk all. If she won she would return him his money, and 
say she had changed her mind. If she lost . . . well, 
there was the white powder. . . . 

She would ask him at once. How dark and silent the 
house was. Room fourteen was on the floor below. Softly 
she crept down the shabby stairs. She had to put on her 
cloak ; she shivered so. 

That was his door. She hesitated, inclined to turn 
back. Perhaps he had gone out. Her heart was beating 
horribly and the hand she put out trembled. She knocked. 
There was no answer. Softly she tried the handle of the 
door. 


END OF BOOK ONE 



BOOK TWO 


The Story of Hugh 





































































CHAPTER ONE 


THE UNHAPPIEST LAD IN LONDON 


1 . 


T HE woman he used to call Aunty kept a rooming 
house on Balmoral Circus, and the boy’s earliest 
memories were of domestic drudgery. He cleaned 
boots until nearly midnight, smudging with grimy 
knuckles his sleepy eyes. He slept in a cupboard at the 
rear of the hall, along with dirty brushes, smelly dusters 
and lymphatic cock-roaches. As he grew taller he learned 
to make beds and to take care of the rooms. Aunty 
nagged at him continually and he had to dodge occasional 
blows. 

She was an unwieldy woman with a tart tongue and 
tight varnished hair. Every afternoon she would put on 
a battered bonnet and go forth for what she called “a 
breff of fresh air.” She would return about five, smelling 
of gin and very affable. He preferred her cuffs to her 
kisses. 

Uncle would come home at a quarter past six. He 
was a French-cleaner, a monosyllabic man who loved his 
pipe. One evening he broke his stoic silence. 

“Missis, it’s time that boy ’ad some schoolin’.” 
“Schoolin’ ! the ideer ! And tell me ’oo’s goin’ to do the 
work of this ’ouse while he’s wastin’ ’is time over a lot o’ 
useless ’istry an’ jography?” 

“I tell you, missis, he’s got to have some eddication. 
He’s goin’ on for nine now and knows next to nothin’.” 


79 


80 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Well, you know wot it means. It means payin’ some 
lazy slut of a ’ouse-maid sixteen bob a month.” 

“Well, and why can’t you pay it out of that five ’undred 
pounds ’is mother gave you to look after ’im?” 

“ ’Eaven ’ear the man! And ’aven’t I looked after ’im? 
’Aven’t I earned all she gave me? ’Aven’t I bin a second 
muvver to ’im? Didn’t I nurse ’er like a sister, and ’er 
dyin’ of consumption? There ain’t many ’as would ’ave 
done wot I did.” 

The difficulty of his education, however, was solved by 
the second-floor back, Miss Pingley, who undertook to give 
him lessons for two hours every day. She was the cousin 
of a clergyman and excessively genteel, so that his man- 
ners improved under her care. 

Once he began to read his imagination was awakened. 
More than ever he hated the sordid life around him. He 
began to think seriously of running away, and would no 
doubt have done so, had not Uncle again intervened. One 
evening the silent man laid down his pipe. 

“I’ve got a job for the boy, Missis. He begins work on 
Monday.” 

“Wot !” 

“I say get a gel for the work. That lad’s goin’ into 
business on Monday.” 

“Well, I never!” 

“Yes, Gummage and Meek, the cheese people. You ’ear, 
Hugh?” 

“Yes, Uncle. Thank you, Uncle.” 

Aunty began to make a fuss, but Uncle promptly told 
her to shut up. As for the boy the thought of getting 
away from dust pans and slop pails was like heaven to 
him; so the following Monday, with beating heart, he 
presented himself at the office of Gummage and Meek. 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


81 


2 . 

Mr. Ainger, the cashier, sat on his high stool, and 
looked down at a slim lad, twisting a shabby cap. Mr. 
Ainger was a tall man of about fifty, his hair grey, his 
face fine and distinguished. It was said that in his spare 
time he wrote. 

“Well, my boy,” he said kindly, “what do you call 
yourself?” 

“Hugh Kildair.” 

The gaze of Mr. Ainger became interested. He noted 
the dark eyes that contrasted so effectively with the light 
wavy hair, the sensitive features, the fine face stamped 
with race. Centuries of selection, he thought, had gone 
to the making of that face. 

“A romantic name. So, my boy, you are making a 
start with us. I don’t know that it’s what you would 
choose if you had any say in the matter. Probably, you’d 
rather have been a corsair or a cowboy. I know I would 
at your age. However, very few of us are lucky enough 
to do the things we’d like to do. Life’s a rotten muddle, 
isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, my young friend, I do not know if the horizon 
of your ambition is bounded by cheese, if it inspires you 
with passion, with enthusiasm. Still you might have made 
a worse choice. You might have been in oils and var- 
nishes, for instance, or soap. Imagine handling those 
compared with that exquisite ivory curd — transmuted by 
bovine magic from the dew and daisies of the field. I tell 
you there’s romance in cheese; there’s even poetry. I’m 
sure a most charming book could be written about it. 


82 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Pardon me, but you’re not by any chance thinking of 
writing a book about cheese, are you?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Glad to hear it. Now I think of it I might as well do 
it myself, — a whimsical Belloc-sort of book with glimpses 
of many lands. But there. Let us return to the subject 
of your future. All I can say is : Do your best ; we’ll do 
the rest. Now go; and believe me, our discriminating 
gaze is upon you ” 

In the years that followed, although he saw little of 
Mr. Ainger, he was conscious of a protective and sympa- 
thetic eye. As for the work he did not dislike it. It was 
pleasant in the cool gloom of the warehouse where cheeses 
of all shapes and colours made strange lights and shadows. 
He had more liberty too, than he would have had in the 
office. He was able to make pen and ink sketches of his 
companions in his spare moments. At the end of 
every month he handed over his pay to Aunty who re- 
turned him a trifle for pocket-money* 

At the beginning of his fifth year his salary was raised 
to fifty pounds. On the day he received his first instal- 
ment he did not return to Balmoral Circus. Instead he 
went to a small room in Hammersmith, carrying his few 
belongings in a cricket bag. He then wrote to Aunty, 
saying he was “on his own,” and he would never see her 
again. 

At last,, at last he was free. 

3 . 

How hard that first winter was ! Fifty pounds went 
much further in those days than it does now, but even 
then he had to go without many needful things. An over- 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


83 


coat, for one. You can picture him a tall, thin pale 
youth, with a woollen comforter and a shabby suit far too 
small for him. He was often cold and hungry. A cough 
bothered him. 

One day Mr. Ainger came down to see him. 

“Hullo, young man. You haven’t written that book 
yet?” 

“No, sir.” 

“I am surprised. Assailed as you are by a dozen pun- 
gent odours do you not realize that under the cork-trees 
of Corsica the goats browse on the wild thyme in order 
that those shelves may be replenished with green veined 
Roquefort; that cattle bells jingle in the high vivid val- 
leys of the Jura to make for us those grind-stone like 
masses of cavernous Gruyere; sitting here are you not 
conscious of a rhythm running through it all, of a dig- 
nity, even of an epic — cheese?” 

“Well,” he went on, “I’ve come to hale you from all 
this source of inspiration to a more sordid environment. 
There’s a spare stool in the counting-house I think you 
might ornament.” 

“I’ll be glad of a change, sir.” 

“Good. By the way, where are you living?” 

“Hammersmith, sir.” 

“Ah, indeed, I have a cottage on the river. You must 
come and see me.” 

A fortnight later he took Hugh to his little villa. It 
was the only real home the lad had even seen, and was 
a revelation to him. Mrs. Ainger was the first sweet 
woman he had ever met, and he immediately worshipped 
her. There were two fine boys and a most fascinating 
library. 

The Aingers had a great influence on Hugh’s develop- 


84 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


ment. Through them he met a number of nice fellows 
and instinctively picked up their manners. He played 
football, cricket, and tennis, — at which games he was swift 
and graceful, but somewhat lacking in stamina. He 
studied French, and Mr. Ainger was at great pains to 
see that he had a good accent. But best of all, he was 
able to attend an art school in the evenings and satisfy 
a growing passion for painting. 

Then the war broke out. He went to France with the 
First Hundred Thousand. In the wet and cold of the 
trenches he contracted pneumonia and his recovery was 
slow. As soon as he was well again, he was transferred 
to the transport service and drove a camion in the last 
great struggle. When he was demobilized he returned to 
the office at a comfortable salary. 

Everything looked well now, everything but his health. 
He suffered from a chronic cold and was nearly always 
tired. 

Then one raw day in early Spring he saw a poor woman 
throw her child over the Embankment. 

“She was quite close to me,” he told Mr. Ainger after- 
wards, “so of course I went in. It was instinctive. Any 
other chap would have done the same. 

“Well, I grabbed the kid and the kid grabbed me, and 
there I was treading water desperately. But it was hard 
to keep afloat ; and I thought we must both go down. I re- 
member I felt sorry for the little beast. I didn’t care a 
hang for myself. Then just as I was about to give up, 
they lifted us into a boat. There was a crowd and 
cheering, but I was too sick to care. Some one took me 
home in a taxi and my landlady put me to bed.” 

The chill that resulted affected his lungs. All winter 
he had fits of coughing that made him faint from sheer 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


85 


exhaustion. He awoke at night bathed in cold sweat. 
In the morning he was ghastly, and rose only by a dogged 
effort. One forenoon, after a hard fit of coughing Mr. 
Ainger said to him: 

“Cold doesn’t seem to improve.” 

“No, sir.” 

“By the way, ever had any lung trouble in your 
family?” 

“Yes, sir. My mother, I’ve been told, died of it.” 

“Look here, take the afternoon off and see our doctor.” 

The doctor was a little bald, rosy man. He looked up 
at Hugh’s nigh six feet of gaunt weariness. 

“You’re not fit to be out, sir. Go home at once. I’ll 
see you there.” 

So Hugh went to his bed, and remained in it all summer. 

4. 

One day in late October he lay on his bed staring drear- 
ily at the soiled ceiling, and wondering if in all London 
there was a lad more unhappy than he. 

“A lunger,” he thought bitterly. “Rotten timber! A 
burden to myself and others. Soon I must take up the 
fight again and I’m tired, tired. I want to rest, do noth- 
ing for a year or two. Well, I won’t give in. I’ll put 
up a good scrap yet. I’ll ” 

Here a knock came at the door. It was the little doctor 
cheery and twinkling. 

“Hullo! How’s the health to-day?” 

“Better, doctor; I’ll soon be able to go back to the 
office.” 

The doctor laughed : “If you remain in London another 
six months you’ll be a dead man.” 


86 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


44 What would you have me do?” 

“Go away. Live in a warm climate. Egypt, Algeria, 
the Riviera.” 

“And if I go away how long will I live?” 

“Oh, probably sixty years.” 

“Quite a difference. Well, doctor, I expect I’ll have to 
stick it out here. You see, I’ve no money, no friends. 
Even now I’m living on the charity of the firm. They’ve 
been awfully decent, but I can’t expect them to go on 
much longer.” 

“Have you no relatives ?” 

“None that I know of. I’m absolutely alone in the 
world.” 

“Well, well! We’ll see about it. Surely something can 
be done. Don’t get down-hearted. Everything will come 
out all right.” 

The little doctor went away, and Hugh continued to 
stare at the soiled ceiling. There came to him a desperate 
vision of palms and sunshine. But that was not for him. 
He must stay in this raw bleak London and perish as 
many a young chap had perished. . . . 

Next morning came another knock at the door. It was 
Mr. Ainger. 

“Well, my lad, how are you feeling?” 

“A little better. I hope I’ll soon be able to get back to 
my ledger.” 

“Nonsense, my boy! You’ll never come back. You’re 
expected to hand in your resignation. The doctor holds 
out no hope. You can’t go on drawing on your salary 
indefinitely.” 

Hugh swallowed hard. “No, that’s right. You’ve 
treated me square. I can’t complain.” 

“Complain, I should say not ; look here. . . .” 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


87 


With that Mr. Ainger took from his pocket a sheaf of 
crisp Bank of England notes and began to spread them 
out on the bed. 

“Twelve of them. Ten pounds each. All yours. We 
collected sixty pounds in the office and the firm doubled it. 
And now you’re going to eternal sunshine, to blue skies, 
to a land where people are merry and sing the whole 
day long. You’ve escaped the slimy clutch of commerce. 
Gad ! I envy you !” 

“Do you really, sir?” 

“Yes. I wanted to live in Italy, Greece, Spain ; to roam, 
to be a vagabond, to be free. But I married, had children, 
became a slave chained to the oar. One thing though, — 
my boys will never be square pegs in round holes. They’ll 
have the chance I never had.” 

“Perhaps it’s not too late.” 

“No, perhaps not. Perhaps some day I’ll join you 
down there. Perhaps when I get things settled, I’ll live 
under those careless skies where living is rap cure. I’ll 
get back by own soul. I’ll write that book, I’ve tried all 
my life to write. Perhaps . . . it’s my dream, my 
dream. . . .” 

Mr. Ainger turned abruptly and went out, leaving 
Hugh staring incredulously at the counterpane of notes 
that covered his bed. 


CHAPTER TWO 


THE CALX, OF THE BLOOD 

P INES packed the vast valley, climbing raggedly to 
the pale grey peaks. Sometimes the mountains 
swooped down in gulch and butte of fantastic 
beauty. The pines were pale green in the sunshine, the 
soil strangely red. There was a curious dryness, a hard 
brilliance about it all. 

As Hugh looked from the train window he had a feeling 
of home-coming. It was as if his ancestors had lived in 
this land ; as if in no other could he thrive so well. 

“I’m feeling heaps better,” he thought. “Only let me 
get six months in these jolly old pine forests, living like a 
wood-cutter. The life of nature, that’s what I need to 
make a new man of me. Ah! this is my country. I’m 
here now ; and here I’ll stay.” 

Looking at that sky so invincibly blue, that soil so sub- 
jugated by the sun, it seemed hard to believe that else- 
where there could be fog and cold and sleet. Here the 
sunshine was of so conquering a quality, it was diffi- 
cult to think of sullen lands that could resist it. 

Again Hugh felt that sense of familiarity: “I’m a son 
of the sun,” he exulted ; “a child of the sun-land.” 

So absorbed was he that a rasping voice at his side 
almost startled him. 

“The verdure here is profligate, ain’t it?” 

The speaker was a rusty, creaky man smoking a rank 
cigar. He had a bony nose, and a ragged moustache. 

88 


THE STORY OF HUGH 89 

He wore a dusty bowler hat and a coat with a collar of 
hard-bitten musk-rat. 

“The pines do seem to thrive,” said Hugh. 

“Pines is very tendatious,” observed the shabby man. 
“Very saloobrious too.” 

“Indeed,” said Hugh. “Are you a health-seeker?” 
“No, sir. Not ’ealth, — wealth. I’m a man with a sys- 
tem, I am. The finest system on the Riviera.” 

“I wish mine was. It’s rather dicky.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t referrin’ to my corporationus system. 
It’s my system at roulette. Allow me. . . .” 

He handed Hugh a rather soiled card on which was 
engraved : 


Professor Robert Bender, 

ROULETTE EXPERT, 

INVENTOR OF BENDER’S VOISIN SYSTEM 

Author of “ How to live at the Cost of the Casino .” 


“Yes,” supplemented the shabby man importantly. 
“You see before you one of the greatest livin’ authorities 
on roulette. I’ve studied it now for twenty years. They 
all consult old Bob. Many a gentleman I’ve ’elped to 
fortune. ’Avin’ no capital myself, I’m obliged to let 
others ’ave the benefit of my experience.” 

“And your system?” queried Hugh politely. 

“Well, sir, it’s based on the fact that the old croupiers 
’ave a ’abit of throwin’ the ball in a hotomatic way, so that 
they ’ave spells when they throw into the same section of 
the wheel. Of course, it calls for judgment and observa- 
tion.” 


90 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Luck, too, I should imagine.” 

“Not so much. Luck is a thing we scientific roulette 
players try not to recognize. We aim to beat chance by 
calculation.” 

“Is it really true,” said Hugh, “that one can live at the 
cost of the Casino?” 

“Certainly. Thousands are doin’ it this very day. 
Why, I can go in any time and make a couple of louis.” 

“I wish I could.” 

“So you can, sir, with a little experience. You’re goin’ 
to Monte?” 

“No, Menton.” 

“Ah, that’s a pity. Mentony’s too full of English, too 
deadly dull. Monte’s a sporty little gem, the most beauti- 
ful spot on earth — and the wickedest.” 

“That sounds interesting.” 

“Interestin’ ... I should say so. There’s no square 
mile on God’s globe so packed with drama. There’s no 
theatre a patch on that Casino. You’d better get off at 
Monte, sir, and let me put you on to my system. Sixteen 
hundred francs capital is all you need, and I guarantees 
you a daily profit of from twenty to eighty per cent.” 

Hugh thought of the poor two thousand francs that 
was to last him for six months. 

“I’ll think over it. Meantime I’ve arranged to go to 
Menton.” 

“Well, we’ll surely see you at the tables before long. 
By the way, sir, you see that gentleman with the white 
spats? He’s a English gentleman, a Mister Jarvie Tope. 
Very nice man, but he’s got a system that’s no good. 
Don’t let him fool you with it.” 

“Thank you,” said Hugh, “I’ll be careful.” 

The pine-lands had given way to vinelands, the 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


91 


peaks to plains. The vines pushed jagged forks through 
the red soil; the olive groves wimpled in the wind. The 
goats and donkeys scarcely raised their heads to gaze at 
the insolent train. Hugh was in such a deep reverie that 
he did not notice the approach of Mr. Jarvie Tope. 

Mr. Tope was a little rosy man, round and bland with 
waxed grey moustaches. He was well groomed, and 
seemed on the most excellent terms with life. 

“Ha, ha!” he squeaked as he drew near to Hugh, “Old 
Bob Bender’s been warning you against me, I could see it 
in his eye, the rascal. Told you, no doubt, I’d try to put 
you on to my system. Couldn’t, if I would. I’ve come 
over to play for a syndicate.” 

“Indeed. What sort of a system is yours P” 

“Well, it’s based on the idea that the same phenomenon 
cannot occur on the same spot at the same moment to- 
day that it occurred at the same spot on the same day last 
year. I have my phenomena carefully recorded and when 
the times comes I bet on them. The probabilities are 
millions in my favour.” 

“There seems to be a lot of systems.” 

“No end of ’em. We all think ours is the best and the 
other fellows’ no good. With a bit of luck all are good, 
but you need a lot of capital to defend yourself, and 
you must be content with a very moderate return. And 
after all none are infallible. That’s what we’re all seeking, 
a formula that’s infallible. So far no one has found it, 
but still we seek and hope. . . . You see that old fellow 
at the end of the corridor?” 

“The venerable old chap with the white beard ?” 

“Yes, I call him Walt Whitman. Well, he’s, a man 
over seventy, going to Monte Carlo for the first time, a 
professor from the Sorbonne, Durand by name. They say 


92 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


he has worked on his system for twenty years, and is 
bringing the savings of a lifetime to test it. Ah! we’ll 
see what we shall see. Fine looking old chap, isn’t he?” 

“Very striking, — like a Hebrew prophet.” 

“He has books and books of figures and calculations. 
What his system is no one knows. I’ve seen a heap of 
them come like conquerors and go away broken on the 
wheel.” 

“You know the place well?” 

“I should think so. Never missed a season for twenty 
years. Coming here has got to be a habit with me. In 
summer I have a cottage in Kent where I grow roses; in 
winter an apartment in Monte where I play roulette. Oh, 
I’m a great boy, you don’t know me.” 

Mr. Tope laughed in jolly appreciation of himself. 

“Well, I suppose I’m crazy like the rest of ’em. We’re 
all crazy there. The Casino is a great lunatic asylum. 
We wander about as if we were free, but we’re not. In- 
evitably our feet carry us back. Don’t let it get you, 
young man. Avoid Monte as you would the plague. . . . 
By the way there’s the first call for lunch. I’m going to 
have a wash first. See you later.” 


2 . 

Hugh followed a line of passengers to the dining car. 
He had found a place and was looking at the menu card 
when the waiter ushered a lady into the opposite seat. 
He looked up and then as quickly away. For even in that 
casual glimpse he was aware that his vis-a-vis was most 
alarmingly attractive. 

Now Hugh was an unusually shy young man, and in the 
ordinary course of events would have eaten his meal in 


THE STORY OF HUGH 93 

silence, and gone away without a word. To his amaze- 
ment, he heard a firm, clear voice addressing him: 

“Don’t you remember me?” 

Suddenly he found himself gazing into a pair of smiling 
brown eyes ; but even as he looked the smile died in their 
amber depths. In its place was embarrassment; a frown 
puckered the delicately pencilled eye-brows. Again the 
clear voice spoke almost with reproach. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon, but you are ridiculously like a 
friend of mine, — Paul Vulning.” 

“Indeed, that’s curious.” 

“Yes, too absurd. For now I look, you’re quite a bit 
different. Paul must be five years older than you, but he 
looks ten. The dear boy doesn’t take the care of himself 
he ought. A sad scapegrace.” 

She regarded him again, then laughed joyously. 

“Why, here we are, two perfect strangers talking to- 
gether like old pals. What must you think of me? Be- 
cause of your likeness to Paul I feel as if I’d known you 
for ages. What’s your name?” 

“Hugh Kildair.” 

“Sounds deliciously Scotch. But you’re English, aren’t 
you?” 

“I’ve lived all my life in England.” 

“Indeed! So have I. But never again. The English 
are so cold. They don’t understand temperament. Even 
before my husband died and we lost all our money, I was 
quite fed up with it. Now I spend the winter in Monte 
and the summer in Aix.” 

The waiter interrupted her with the wine card. She 
looked rather disdainfully down the list and chose the 
most expensive. Then she scanned Hugh appraisingly. 
His new grey suit sat well. His collar and tie were of 


94 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


the right sort. He looked clean, correct ; a public school 
man. The lady seemed satisfied. 

“You’re a nice boy,” she said happily. “I’m Mrs. Bel- 
mire. Every one in Monte knows me. You’re going to 
Monte, of course?” 

Hugh hesitated. “No, I’m rather seedy. I’m going to 
Menton to rest up.” 

“Menton. Why ! you’ll be bored to death there! Noth- 
ing but old tabbies who go to each others’ teas and talk 
gossip. Oh, you’ll hate it. Get off at Monte. Promise 
me you will.” 

She was really a beautiful woman. Everything about 
her was so exquisitely correct. Her complexion had the 
delicacy of porcelain ; her henna-coloured hair looked as if 
it had just come from the hands of the coiffeur; her eyes 
had passion in their tarn-brown depths. As her hand 
touched his he felt that he would have got off at Hades 
to please her. 

“Seems a good idea ; I might as well rest there.” 

“Topping! it’s decided then. You’ll come and see me. 
I suppose you’ll stay at the ‘Paris.’ I wouldn’t though. 
They’ll charge you two hundred francs a night for a 
room. Oh, yes, my dear boy, you’re going to say their 
charges are their charges, but you don’t know Monte. 
Unless you’re odiously oofy, don’t go to the Paris. It’s 
simply infested with ‘rastas’ and nouveaux riches . Some of 
the hotels on the hill are really quite nice, and you’ll meet 
the right sort of people there. You see, I’m taking a moth- 
erly interest in you. I don’t want to see you foolishly ex- 
travagant. Above all, don’t throw your money away reck- 
lessly at the Casino. If you must play let me be your ad- 
viser. Let me give you the benefit of my experience.” 

“That’s awfully nice of you.” 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


95 


“Not at all. I’ve helped heaps of men. I can’t afford 
to play myself, but I enjoy seeing others win. Have a 
cigarette?” 

He took one from a gold case, and they puffed between 
courses. She sipped only a little of the wine, and the bot- 
tle was half full when the waiter whisked it away. She 
ordered a fine champagne with her coffee, and graciously 
allowed Hugh to pay the bill. As she rose to leave she 
gave his hand a little squeeze. 

“There! I’ve enjoyed my lunch so much! Remember 
me; Mrs. Belmire. And don’t forget to get off at Monte.” 

The paying of the bill had a sobering effect on him. 

“After all,” he thought, “if she knew I was a nobody 
with only two thousand francs in the world she wouldn’t 
wipe her shoes on me. As for meeting her in Monte, this 
decides me. I’ll steer clear of the place.” 

3. 

The scenery was as lovely as a painted panel. Between 
umbrella pines he saw the majestic sway of the sea. 
Snowy villas peeped from sombre Cyprus groves. The 
palms were pale gold in the wistful sunshine. Magic 
names glorified the common-place looking stations. — San 
Raphael, Agay, Nice. In the setting sun the way seemed 
to be growing more and more wonderful, as if working up 
to a climax of beauty. Every moment moved him to fresh 
rapture. And to think that this loveliness had been here 
all the time and he had not known! How could people 
continue to exist in that grim grey London? Was there 
such a place as this, or was he dreaming it? Would he 
ever go back again to fog and grime? No, never, 


never. . . 


96 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Villefranche, Beaulieu, Eze . . . the light had faded, 
yet still he stared at the shadows through the darkened 
pane. He was aware suddenly that the glass was reflect- 
ing mirror-like the compartment behind him. At first he 
thought it was empty, then he heard a sigh and saw it 
was occupied by a slim slip of a girl. She was sitting in 
the corner, very quiet, very anxious. She was dressed in 
deep black, and her white, rather haggard face had a 
kind of pathetic appeal. He noted all this without any 
particular interest. Then suddenly she took off her hat 
and he saw that she had the most wonderful hair in the 
world. 

She rose to arrange it before the small mirror above 
her seat. With a brusque movement she withdrew two 
combs and let it ripple down in a rain of gold. It 
reached below her waist. It covered her like a cape, it 
shimmered in the lamp light, it seemed as luminous as a 
flame. At the sight of such glory Hugh turned and stared. 

Then the girl noticed him and flushed w T ith shame. She 
clutched her bright tresses to her head and swiftly re- 
arranged them. She turned her back. . . . 

Monte Carlo. 

They were getting in now. The train seemed to plunge 
into a dazzle of light ; then the darkness of another tun- 
nel; then a long green station. On the lamps so meanly 
printed, he could see the magic name that opens wide the 
portals of romance. Surely it should be blazoned in fiery 
capitals on the heights of heaven! This then was the 
spot of which people talk and dream, that masterpiece 
of nature and art which never disenchants, which is ador- 
able even in its cruelty. Fatal, fascinating name, — Monte 
Carlo. 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


97 


It was the climax of the beautiful journey. The train 
disgorged nearly all its passengers as if this place like 
a magnet was drawing them out. He saw Bob Bender, 
and Jarvie Tope. He watched old Professor Durand 
looking curiously about him, and a white-haired porter 
taking the baggage of Mrs. Belmire. He felt alone, 
abandoned. 

As the train lingered, loth to leave this charmed spot, 
Hugh felt a sudden desire to get off. He saw the fair- 
haired girl struggling with a basket valise. With a sud- 
den impulse he gathered together his own luggage and 
prepared to descend, but the train was already in mo- 
tion. 

“Just as well. Now for Menton.” 

Then behold ! the train halted again and backed to the 
station. 

“Fate !” said Hugh and jumped off. He passed through 
a long baggage room into a court-yard where there were 
a line of luxurious hotel omnibuses and porters in livery. 
The court was backed by a wall of rock that rose to the 
heights of a glorious garden. Palms speared the silvery 
arc-lights. Masses of geraniums stained the face of the 
rock. On the winding steps that led to the garden a 
nude statue of a woman was set in a niche amid ferns and 
water lilies, and a diamond spray of water. 

On the long hill to the right was a line of fiacres. He 
saw the fair haired girl hand her bag to one of the drivers. 

“Pension Paoli,” she said. 

Hugh watched her drive away; then he, too, hailed a 
fiacre. The dark driver bent to him with smiling polite- 
ness. 

“Where to, monsieur?” 

Hugh thought for a moment. As he stood there he 


98 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


had a strange thrill of wonder and of joy. He seemed to 
breathe an enchanted air ; the silver lights amid the trees 
were those of fairyland; he felt as if he were hesitating 
on the very threshold of romance. 

“Pension Paoli,” he answered. 


CHAPTER THREE 


THE POISONED PARADISE 

1 . 

A N amiable, early morning sun was irradiating that 
great theatre which is Monte Carlo, and a regi- 
ment of stage hands were preparing the scene for 
another day. Hawk-eyed bands of them with brush and 
pan were grooming the cleanest streets in the world, 
pouncing triumphantly on burnt matches and unsightly 
cigarette ends. Other bands invaded the beautiful gar- 
dens, trimming each blade of grass to the same size and 
meticulously barbering each bud and flower. They 
moved with nonchalant grace, these brown-skinned Mone- 
gascans, as became the servitors of that great, benevolent 
institution, the Casino. 

As Hugh passed through the gardens, breathing the 
perfumed air, a great delight glowed in him. His first 
impression was of the theatric quality of the place, its 
note of unreality. It was a fit setting for the pleasure- 
seeking hordes, for the legions of luxury, for these dream- 
ing of fortune and those dead to hope. He never lost 
his sense of its unreality, of its being a stage scene, on 
which was played a daily drama in three acts: Morning, 
Afternoon, and Evening. 

Passing between the Casino and the Hotel de Paris, he 
descended in the direction of the Condamine. At the top 
of a long hill, a little way past the post office, he paused 
with a joy that thrilled him to ecstasy. . . . 

99 


100 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


He saw a little U shaped harbour shielded from the 
sea . It was as delicate as a pastel, a placque of sapphire 
set in pearl. In the crystal air the red-roofed houses 
crowded close to it. The terraced town rose on tip-toe 
to peer at it. It was all glitter and gleam, and radiant 
beauty. And yonder in sombre contrast rose the Rock , 
monstrous, mediaeval , — so scornful of that hectic modern- 
ity across the bay. . . . 

He climbed the long steep hill, crossed the sunny square 
in front of the palace and plunged into the cool gloom of 
the narrow streets. Wandering idly along he came 
to a low brown house with a tiny porch, and four 
pepper-trees in front. He looked at it carelessly enough, 
then turned and wandered into the garden of the Prince. 
He gazed curiously at a broken pillar covered with ivy. 
There was a spring sunk deep in the rock; the flowers 
bloomed there ; and bees and butterflies made the nook gay 
and tuneful. He found a bench that overlooked the glim- 
mering sea and rested awhile. 

As he sat pensively dreaming, two pale ghosts may have 
been watching him; a man strong and tall, a girl sweet 
and fragrant as a flower. Perhaps wrapt in that great 
love to which he owed his being, they were drawing near 
to him with wistful pain, with adoring tenderness. Who 
knows? . . . 

Filled with a strange melancholy Hugh rose and went 
his unheeding way. Again he looked carelessly at the 
house in which his mother was born, in which her mother 
still lived. . . . 

But he remembered nothing. He did not know. He 
never knew. . . . 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


101 


2 . 


The chief recommendation of the Pension Paoli was its 
cheapness. For twenty francs a day Hugh had his board 
and a chamber that over-looked the red roofs and the 
blue sea beyond. He had a tiny balcony, too, and in the 
lazy, limpid days he cultivated a cheerful lethargy. 

It was one of those Bohemian establishments peculiar 
to the Principality. People came and went without ex- 
citing interest. The clientele was imperturbably cosmo- 
politan, the cuisine piquantly Italian. At the table d’hote 
one heard half a dozen tongues and no one was concerned 
about the respectability of his neighbour. Every one 
seemed to gamble, and to think of little but the Casino. 

Hugh’s first evening was typical. He was trying to go 
to sleep, when about midnight some one entered the next 
room. He heard the sound of money being emptied on the 
table, counted, then a sigh of satisfaction. Every night 
this happened, only some nights there was no money and 
curses took the place of content. On such nights he 
would say to himself, “The Twitcher’s been loosing.” 

The Twitcher was a tall weedy man, who, owing to some 
nervous malady, had a trick of raising and lowering his 
eyebrows. He had a friend whom Hugh called the Sword 
Swallower, on account of his way of eating ravioli. The 
S. S. was small and brisk, with tiny, cropped head, and a 
large but carefully groomed moustache. His trousers 
were striped and of the same width all the way down. 

The S. S. and the Twitcher were allies and united in a 
dislike for a third man, whom Hugh dubbed the Rat. This 
was a sturdy, bandy-legged fellow with a bulging jaw, a 
broken nose and close-set, beady eyes. His skin had a 
curious pallor, a prison pallor, Hugh thought. He de- 


102 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


cided that the Rat had just finished doing time and was 
now spending the swag. 

One day he overheard a conversation between the 
Twitcher and the Sword Swallower which referred to the 
Rat. 

“Yes,” said the Twitcher, “the fellow’s as crooked as a 
ram’s horn. I saw him do it again.” 

“Do what?” 

“He puts a louis on one of the dozens then watches the 
ball. Just as it drops he shifts his stake to the winning 
dozen. He is quick as a flash and nine times out of ten 
the croupier doesn’t notice it. So he gets paid.” 

“He’s a shady one. If you leave your money in the 
table at night, be sure to lock your door.” 

“I’ve never done so yet, but in future I’ll be more care- 
ful.” 

At this moment the Rat entered and greeted them with 
a twinkle in his beady eyes. 

“Well,” he said briskly, “I’ve just made my ‘day,’ — 
five louis. Now I can rest.” 

“You’re easily satisfied,” said the Twitcher; “if I 
don’t clear twenty, I think I’m out of luck.” 

“Not me,” said the Sword Swallower. “If I can make 
the bank cough up a couple of louis I quit. But I never 
fail.” 

“What’s your system?” demanded the Rat. 

“Oh, I play for a paroli. And yours?” 

“I always play between the dozens,” answered the Rat ; 
“it’s the safest.” 

“Yes,” said the Twitcher. “You play a safe game all 
right. As for me, give me the traversals. . . .” 

Here the conversation became too technical for Hugh 
to follow. Presently the Twitcher said to the S. S. : 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


103 


“Come on. Let’s go and scratch.” 

As they went away, the Rat installed himself in a com- 
fortable chair and called for a Dubonnet. Then he 
lit a cigarette from a yellow packet, blew the smoke 
blissfully through his nostrils, sipped his aperitif, and 
seemed content with all the world. 

“A sinister chap,” Hugh thought, and ceased to look 
at him. Suddenly he heard a gasp of dismay. 

The Rat was staring out of the window, his sallow face 
livid, his hands clutching the table edge. Then he dived 
through the little door at the back of the restaurant and 
disappeared. Astonished, Hugh followed the direction of 
the man’s gaze. All he saw was a mild old priest peer- 
ing rather curiously at the house. Hugh watched wonder- 
ingly; but the priest, after lingering a little, went slowly 
away, and the Rat did not finish his aperitif. 

Among the other boarders were two Swedish women, 
mother and daughter. The mother was short and fat, 
and the daughter, tall and thin; but both were blonde 
and had shiny, red faces. They dressed in black satin, 
with gold chains round their necks and diamond rings on 
every available finger. They ate gluttonously, and spoke 
a harsh, gabbling tongue. Although they were evidently 
rich, they gambled greedily for five-franc pieces. 

Occasionally Hugh saw the girl with the bright, heaping 
hair. Sometimes at meals he would see her slip into a re- 
mote corner, quiet as a mouse. She looked at no one, kept 
her head down, ate very little and stole out again as softly 
as she had come. 

One day he questioned Terese, the waitress, about her. 

“Ah,” said Terese, “you’re asking me something. All 
I can tell you is that her name on the register is Margot 
Leblanc. She’s a queer one. Never speaks to a soul. 


104 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


She spends her time between the church and the Casino, 
between praying and gambling. I can’t make her out.” 

Hugh’s curiosity was aroused. But the girl’s manner 
discouraged any attempt at acquaintance. Once when he 
chanced to encounter her on the stair, his polite greeting 
was met by such a sullen silence that his interest in her 


His health was improving daily. It seemed quite won- 
derful. Instead of watching the tennis-players, he wanted 
to join them. The distance of his walks lengthened. He 
joined the little English library and changed his books 
frequently. On the heights above the town, sitting under 
an olive tree with the vast shimmer of the sea below him, 
he read through long sunny hours. Sometimes he got out 
his box of water colours, and made some sketches. 

At half past nine every morning he sauntered down the 
palm-lined avenue that descends to the Casino. Even at 
that hour it was packed with luxurious motors, and 
he christened it “Limousine Lane.” Dozens of gardeners 
were valeting the lawns on either hand to an unheard of 
greenness and trimness. The air was always delicious. 

At the foot of “Limousine Lane” was the “Cheese,” a 
round grassy mound diagrammed with flowers. It was 
shaded by four proud palms and a great rubber tree. 
Around it were seats for spectators. Lounging there 
Hugh saw the world of fashion parade. Women exqui- 
sitely dressed, and men immaculate sauntered past like 
actors on a stage. They mounted the seven carpeted 
steps of the Casino, paused for a moment as if conscious 
that every detail of their costumes was perfect; then 
turned and were swallowed by the Temple of Chance. 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


105 


While Hugh never wearied of this constant swirl of 
elegance, his main interest was in the swinging doors of 
the Casino itself. He never tired of watching the players 
come and go. One day Bob Bender came down the steps 
looking rustier and more mildewed than ever. He recog- 
nized Hugh. 

“What, sir, — not playing yet ?” 

“No, I have no money to lose. Are you doing all 
right ?” 

The old gambler shook his head in a melancholy way. 

“Not exactly. I’m transversing a bad time. I was 
expecting a gentleman from America who wanted me to 
play for him, but he is delayed, — a Mr. Fetterstein. 
Maybe you’ve heard of him?” 

“No.” 

“Well, his not cornin’ has deranged me. I’ve been play- 
in’ a little game of my own but I ’aven’t got capital 
enough. This mornin’ I came up against zero three times. 
A man can’t do anything against that. Now I’m off to 
get a bite of lunch. Maybe things will come my way this 
afternoon.” 

He shambled off. Before going to his own luncheon 
Hugh strolled around the gardens. Nurses were watch- 
ing beautiful, well-behaved children. The round pond mir- 
rored the palms and pink geraniums ; the little stream was 
fringed by ferns and flowers and starred with water-lilies. 
The green sweep of the sward was like a carpet, set with 
strange exotic trees, agave and cactus and dwarf oranges. 
Midway there was a little artificial ford, with gold fishes 
glancing in the lazy ripples. 

Yet there were jarring notes in this harmony. An old 
man for instance who sat on a bench reading discarded 
journals. He wore eye-glasses and had an air of dignity 


106 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


quite at variance with his rags. His boots were altogether 
disreputable and his coat would have disgraced a decent 
ash-bin. Yet it was easy to see that he had been a person 
of education and refinement who had lost a fortune at the 
tables. Hugh took a seat beside him. 

“Well,” said the old fellow, “what do you think of it?” 

“It’s beautiful,” said Hugh with fervour. 

The other looked at him sarcastically. 

“Beautiful, yes . . . and it’s to me and the likes of 
me you owe it ; we pay for it ; we keep it up. Take a good 
gaze at me, young chap, and you’ll enjoy it all the more.” 
He laughed so disagreeably that Hugh rose and left him. 
But the gardens did not seem as lovely as before. 

4. 

Hugh’s favourite walk was along the highroad that 
led to the Tete du Chien. It crossed a dizzy bridge over 
a deep gorge in which the washerwomen hung their linen 
to dry. At the mouth of this gorge, framed in the arches 
of the railway bridge, was a tiny chapel, and behind it, like 
a slab of lapis lazuli, the harbour. Climbing still higher 
the road passed the Persian villa and reached the top of 
the hill. Almost directly below were the red roofs of the 
Condamine. 

Continuing still further the road swung into a great 
curve high above Monaco, disclosing both the Rock and 
the sweet serenity of the sea. Terrace upon terrace of 
olive trees rose to the base of the mountain. 

Hugh was walking along this road one morning, ad- 
miring the beauty that surrounded him, when suddenly he 
glanced down. In the dust at his feet, fresh and glisten- 
ing, was a crimson patch. “Curious,” he thought ; “those 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


107 


marks look as if a heavy body had fallen here.” He ex- 
amined the stone-wall and found a slight spatter of blood. 
A little further on, he picked up something that made 
him look very thoughtful, a bit of bony fibre, to which 
adhered a few dark hairs. Strange! He looked down- 
wards, and saw that he stood just above the Cemetery 
of Monaco. He found the path and slowly descended. 

He searched for some time for the suicide’s section of 
the cemetery which he had been told was cunningly con- 
cealed. A great high wall separated the lower from the 
upper graveyard, and built half the way up the face 
of it, was another wall, the space between the two forming 
a narrow shelf. There was no access to this shelf except 
through a broken place in the balustrade of the stairway 
just large enough to pass a coffin. As he looked down 
from the upper wall, Hugh saw that the whole length of 
the shelf was closely packed with nameless graves. In 
one place where the earth had been thrown carelessly up a 
rusty shovel leaned against the wall. The air had the 
smell of a charnel pit. 

He climbed the hill again. The place where he had 
seen the blood was now quite clean. There was no 
trace of any disturbance. Some one had come in his ab- 
sence and tidied things up. The sky had suddenly grown 
grey, grey too and sinister the mountains. He had an un- 
easy sense that somewhere in the olive trees unseen eyes 
were watching him; that he was being spied on and 
shadowed. 

5. 

Another day when he took this solitary walk, twilight 
was gathering and the roofs of the Condamine were soft- 
ened to a coral mist. The space between the rock of 


108 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Monaco and the Tete du Chien was filled with sunset after- 
glow as a cup is filled with wine. The olive trees lately 
twinkling in the sunshine were now mysteriously still. 

When Hugh came to the highest point overlooking the 
town, he stopped to rest. The rock of Monaco rose 
like a monster from the sea, and was as dim and silent 
as a tomb. He could distinguish the courtyard of the 
Palace, greyly alight, and a black stencilling of windows. 
A solitary lamp revealed a turret and an ancient archway, 
all else was gloom. In its austere mediaeval strength the 
rock seemed the abode of mystery and silence. 

And Monte Carlo! Looking towards it Hugh could 
see nothing but light. The mountains were pricked with 
patterns of light, the great hotels were packed with light. 
And all seemed to concentrate in one dazzling centre, the 
source from which this luxury of light flowed, — the Casino. 

Then he noticed that on a bench near him was a stoop- 
ing figure. To his surprise he recognized it as that of 
Professor Durand. The old man was clutching in his 
hands a number of the Revue of Monte Carlo with its 
columns of permanencies. 

“What a pity!” thought Hugh. “So fine, so venerable 
a head bent over those wretched figures. This man who 
might be taken for a preacher, a prophet, — a slave to 
this vulgar vice, puzzling over systems, trying to outwit 
the Goddess Chance. Le calcul pent vainer e le jeu . . . 
that is the lying phrase that lures them. Fools !” 

Then he turned for the Professor was addressing him. 
Hugh saw a flashing eye, a noble brow. 

“Young man, you will excuse me, but I claim the privi- 
lege of age. At the Sorbonne I have lectured to thou- 
sands like you. I speak because I noted in your passing 
glance something of disdain.” 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


109 


Hugh made a gesture of protest. 

“No, I do not blame you. You see me with these num- 
bers. But you misjudge me. . . . Listen. . . .” 

The old man seemed to grow taller. He stretched his 
hand to where the Casino glittered like a crown of gems. 

“I am eighty years old to-day. I have a feeling that 
I shall never see another birthday. But there is one thing 
I hope to do before I die to ruin that accursed 

place” 

Hugh stared at him. 

“I speak for the good of humanity, I speak because of 
the evil it has done in the past, the harm it can do in years 
to come. I speak in behalf of its thousand of blasted 
homes, its broken hearts, its shameful graves. Ah! you 
only see the beautiful surface. You do not see below. But 
I do. And to my eyes yonder rock on which it stands, is 
built of human skulls, the waves that lap it are tears and 
blood. Look at the loveliness of earth and sky, the purple 
mountain rising from the silver sea, the dreamlike peace, 
the soft and gentle air. No painted picture was ever half 
so beautiful. How happy all might be here ! A paradise, 
a human paradise; but because of that place, a poisoned 
paradise.” 

Hugh stared harder. The old man’s voice was tense 
with passion. 

“You think I am a fanatic, a madman. Wait and see. 
I am going to destroy that place. For years I have 
worked on my great plan. It is the crown of my life. In a 
few weeks I will begin to play. I shall win and win. By 
mathematics I will frustrate chance. I will compel them 
to close their doors, for my system is invincible. God 
has given me this task to do, and I will complete it before 


110 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


I die. Into my hands He has delivered them. I am His 
instrument of vengeance. Let them beware !” 

In a magnificent gesture he shook his clenched fists 
at the Casino. When Hugh left him he was still standing 
like a prophet on the heights, staring down on his poisoned 
paradise. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


THE GIRL WHO WAS ALWAYS ALONE 

1 . 

C HRISTMAS had come and gone, a strange, unreal 
Christmas, with none of those rigors and austeri- 
ties that Hugh had been accustomed to associate 
with the season. The long stretch of garden in front of 
the Casino was enamelled with patterns of pink, purple 
and milky cyclamen, as brilliant as banners against the 
green; the ribbon-like paths were terra-cotta; and the 
usual indolent gardeners were shaving and shampooing 
the velvety lawns. 

Hugh was feeling elaborately well. In the last two 
months a great change had come over him. His pale face 
had taken on a healthy tan; its hollows had disappeared. 
A new force, a new courage possessed him; he looked a 
lithe, swift youth, as clean as fire. 

It was then with a joyous sense of recovered manhood 
that he took the early train one morning for La Turbie, 
and started to walk to Menton. As he swung along the 
High Corniche it seemed as if he was looking over the 
nose of an aeroplane. The brilliant panorama of shore 
and sea expanded before his gaze. He saw the Rock rising 
like a huge hump from the water, the crowded red roofs 
of the Principality, the dainty hoop of the harbour. His 
gaze shifted to the dazzling curve of the coast, the pre- 
tentious Casino, Cap Martin with its gleam of modern 

111 


112 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


villas in ancient olive groves. A desire to paint this 
beauty kindled and glowed within him. 

He climbed to the ruins of the old castle of Roque- 
brune and gazed through a round window onto a dizzy 
gulf of sea and sky. His reverie was disturbed by 
a sound of voices and as he descended to the courtyard 
he saw a woman standing by the battlements, looking out 
into the great, shining space. She was tall and graceful, 
dressed in a jersey costume of primrose silk. It was Mrs. 
Belmire. 

As if she had known he was there, she stretched her 
hand backwards, without turning her head. 

“Come here,” she commanded. 

Hugh obeyed. He took the outstretched hand and was 
drawn gently to her side. 

“Isn’t it lovely,” she sighed. 

He felt her hand tighten in his. He had a sudden 
desire to kiss her lovely neck. Slowly she turned towards 
him, then stepped back and stamped her foot in vexa- 
tion. 

“Oh, it’s you!” she cried. “Well, of all the — I 
thought it was Mr. Fetterstein.” 

But quickly she recovered herself. 

“I’ve a bone to pick with you, naughty young man. 
Why have you never come to see me?” 

Hugh had no excuse ready. 

“I had made up my mind not to speak to you again. 
But there! Good nature was always my weakness. Pro- 
mise me to come soon and I’ll forgive you.” 

While Hugh was promising another man joined them. 
Mrs. Belmire turned to the new comer radiantly. 

“Mr. Fetterstein; I want to introduce Mr. Kildair; a 
young countryman of mine.” 


THE STORY OF HUGH 113 

Mr. Fetter stein did not look enthusiastic, but mustered 
a show of cordiality. 

“Pleased to meet you,” he said; and offered a large 
hard hand. In fact everything about Mr. Fetterstein 
suggested hardness. He looked muscular and forceful. 
His hair was iron grey ; the lines of his clean-shaven face 
were firm and grim; his jaw strong; his eyes shrewd; his 
voice had a determined rasp. Even his clothes were made 
of some hard, wear-resisting tweed. 

“Now, come,” said Mrs. Belmire; “I positively insist on 
your admiring this view.” 

“If you insist, Mrs. Belmire, there is nothing more to 
be said. But you know how looking at scenery always 
makes me hungry. Even now I’ve got an appetite I 
wouldn’t sell for a twenty dollar bill. I grant you this is 
fine all right. We haven’t got anything in the United 
States that could touch it. But for my part I’d rather 
look into the inside of a good car than at the finest bit 
of scenery the Lord ever made.” 

“Oh, you horrid materialist! But you must excuse 
him, Mr. Kildair. His enthusiasm is entirely professional. 
Mr. Fetterstein makes automobiles in America some- 
where. . . .” 

“Detroit, Michigan, ma’am. We have five factories 
running right now. In fact I’m over here to pick up 
pointers from French cars. I’ve got one down there that’s 
a hummer. But that reminds me, Mrs. Belmire, we’d 
better be getting ong root if we want to make Song Reemo 
in time for dayjoonay. Come on. Let’s get down if 
you’ve had enough of your old ruin.” 

Mrs. Belmire sighed. “I’m sorry you don’t appre- 
ciate my ruin.” 

“I guess it’s a first class ruin all right, but they ain’t 


114 * 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


much in my line. Now, Mrs. Belmire, if you’ll kindly give 
me a few pointers on roulette when we get back to Monte 
Carlo to-night, that’d make a hit with me.” 

They descended to the village square where stood a 
long vicious-looking, torpedo-shaped car. It was painted 
a warm orange, with finishings of nickel. In the curving 
body was a well with two seats, and the whole thing looked 
like an aeroplane without wings. 

“Twelve cylinders,” said Mr. Fetterstein, as he climbed 
into the raking seat. Mrs. Belmire looked distinctly ner- 
vous but bravely adjusted her cloak and veil. Mr. Fet- 
terstein raced the engine, jammed in his first speed; the 
car leapt forward like a flame. Hugh saw it flashing 
down the white road and thrilled as it took the sharp 
curves. Then a shoulder of mountain hid it from his 
view. 

“A most delightful woman,” he thought; “no wonder 
she has a lot of admirers. I wish I could call on her, but 
what’s the good. She’d only find out that I’m what Mr. 
Fetterstein would describe as a ‘four-flusher.’ ” 


2 . 

Hugh lunched and lounged in Menton, until he felt a 
strange nostalgia for Monte Carlo come over him. 

“Curious,” he reflected; “already the place has such a 
hold on me, I cannot leave it even for a few hours.” 

He jumped into a big lemon-coloured motor bus and in 
half an hour was sitting in the Cafe de Paris. 

“Hullo, old chap,” he heard a shrill voice say, and 
looked up to see Mr. Jarvie Tope. Mr. Tope seemed as 
if he had stepped from a band-box, a flawless figure of a 
well-dressed man. 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


115 


“Hullo!” responded Hugh. “You’re looking well.” 

Mr. Tope raised his jaunty panama. 

“I should think so, sixty and still going strong. Get- 
ting younger instead of older. Oh, I’m a great boy, I am.” 

“Come and have tea with me,” Hugh begged. 

Mr. Tope sat down. Together they gazed at the bril- 
liant scene. The air was bright with banners and exult- 
ant with music. Gay crowds promenaded in front of the 
Casino. An aeroplane swooped down, scaring the drowsy 
pigeons on the cornice. Men watched it through their 
monocles, women from under their tiny frilled sunshades. 
Under the striped umbrellas elegant demimondaines sip- 
ped their orangeades ; professional dandies, slim and ele- 
gant, passed amid the green tables ; and dancing girls, be- 
furred and bejewelled, sauntered on their way to the The 
Dansant. It was a kaleidoscope of colour; a moving 
pattern of dainty costumes; an entertainment that never 
lost its interest. 

“Isn’t it just like a scene in a theatre?” said Mr. Tope. 
“That’s how it strikes me even after twenty years. A 
beautifully dressed crowd, beautifully behaved; yet below 
it all vice unfathomable. It sometimes reminds me of the 
rainbow iridescence one sees on a pool of scum. . . . 
By the way, I haven’t seen you tempting the fickle god- 
dess ?” 

“No, I haven’t been inside the Casino.” 

“Ha ! that’s quite a distinction. I noticed you talking 
to old Bob Bender the other day.” 

“Yes, he’s having rather a hard time. He’s waiting a 
backer from America.” 

“Oh, you needn’t waste any sympathy on old Bob. 
He’ll never starve.” 

“Why?” 


116 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Well,” said Mr. Tope, lowering his voice to a whisper, 
“they say he’s in the service of the Secret Police.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Ah, young man ! you only see the showy side of Monte ; 
but believe me, there’s a very seamy under one. This is 
the most cosmopolitan spot in the world, and criminals of 
all countries collect here. You might call it a sort of 
criminal clearing-house. Well, to counteract this, the 
Casino people have the most efficient police force in Eu- 
rope. They have agents in all the big capitals ; an inter- 
national crook can’t put his foot in Monaco without be- 
ing recognized and watched.” 

“You surprise me.” 

“Do I? Let me tell you: the rooms are full of detec- 
tives, male and female. The chief of the Secret Police is 
a man of genius, a Swiss called Krantz. He speaks seven 
languages and seems to have an eighth sense, the sense of 
detection. You may have seen him, a tall, thin man 
dressed in black with a dark, clean-shaven face. He al- 
ways wears a smile of cheerful simplicity.” 

“And Bob?” 

“Oh, Bob’s just a spy. He keeps track of the English 
crooks and shadows if required. They say Krantz values 
him.” 

“It seems very strange to me.” 

“Not at all. If you only knew the underground work- 
ings of this place, the mentality, the way in which every- 
thing is run. . . . Why, here you’re not living in the 
Twentieth Century at all. It’s mediaeval. Even now 
some spy may be trying to over-hear us.” 

“A queer place!” 

“Yes, and packed with the queerest people on earth. 
Now, for instance, that little irirl in black, just entering.” 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


117 


Hugh started. The girl was Margot Leblanc. He had 
not seen her for some time, and had wondered if she was 
still at the pension. She was dressed shabbily and as she 
passed he saw that her face was white and haggard, and 
her eyes stared vacantly before her. She sat down at a 
nearby table. 

“Now, that girl,” continued Mr. Tope, “is a puzzle to 
me. She came here about two months ago and she has 
never been seen to speak to any one. She is always alone. 
Nobody knows anything about her. She spends most of 
her time in the Rooms gambling with small stakes. I 
have seen her stand silently at a table for hours. . . . By 
the way, here come my friends, the Calderbrooks. Let me 
introduce you.” 

The Calderbrooks were so uncompromisingly English, 
that their nationality was recognizable a long way off. 
They wore tailored costumes made of the same kind of 
tweed, with stockings of wool and low tan shoes. Under 
broad-brimmed hats their faces were pink and cheerful. 
The mother was sweet ; the girl pretty ; the father a tall 
thin man, with drooping moustache, a mild manner, and 
pale-blue eyes. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, after they had been in- 
troduced, “we’re going on to Mentony; but we thought 
we must spend a day or two here. . . . Perfectly beauti- 
ful! Mr. Tope tells me you don’t go to the Rooms? How 
very extraordinary ! Of course, we strongly disapprove 
of the whole thing; but I think every one should go once, 
if it’s only to see. We’re going in now for the first time. 
Mr. Tope has promised to be our guide. We shall play 
just once to say we have done so. You’d better come 
with us.” 


118 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Hugh shook his head smilingly ; “I’d rather not, thank 
you. I’ll wait here till you come out.” 

“All right. Shan’t be long.” 

Piloted by Mr. Tope the three mounted the carpeted 
steps, passed the bowing flunkeys, and disappeared 
through the swinging glass doors. In half an hour they 
reappeared. They were quite excited. 

“It’s wonderful,” said Mrs. Calderbrook; “Alice put 
five francs on the twenty-one, that being her age. What 
do you think ! The twenty-one came up. They paid her 
a hundred and eighty francs. Of course we stopped at 
once. It doesn’t do to abuse one’s luck. I really believe 
we are lucky. We’re going again to-night. Father will 
try this time, — won’t you, Father?” 

Mr. Calderbrook said he would in his weak, refined 
voice. Alice was shyly radiant. Hugh wished them fur- 
ther good fortune and they returned to their hotel, eagerly 
talking of the play. 

3 . 

Hugh remained a while longer. He was watching the 
girl of his pension. Her face was pinched and peaked, her 
eyes strangely haunting in their pathos. She was so 
thin that he could see the outline of her sharp shoul- 
der blades under her shabby jacket. Her bright hair was 
braided and coiled away under a hat of black crepe. 

“Poor little devil,” Hugh thought ; “she looks up against 
it.” 

Presently she took a note-book with black glazed covers 
from her bag, and began to turn its pages abstractedly. 
Hugh saw that it was filled with columns of figures. 

“Roulette records,” he thought again, “the same idiotic 
obsession.” 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


119 


Soon she rose ; and having finished his tea, he sauntered 
idly after her. He thought she was going to re-enter 
the Casino ; but instead she turned up-hill in the direction 
of the town. He saw her climb the steps of the Church 
and enter its swinging door. 

After waiting a little, he, too, entered. He found her 
seated in the cool dusk, her slim hands crossed and her 
eyes closed. Whether she was sleeping or praying he 
could not tell. He watched her for a while; then as she 
continued to sit immovable he went away. 

Hugh had found that the strange theatrical charm of 
Monte Carlo was most obvious after dark, and he never 
tired of wandering through the still gardens, breathing the 
delicious freshness of the air. Whichever way he looked a 
picture formed itself. The tiny paths were like coral 
ribbands on a gown of green, embroidered with pansy 
patterns of crimson, violet and silver. Under the lamps 
the blades of the patrician palms shone like swords. There 
were -lace-screens of translucent green, rich velvet dusks, 
and sudden surprises of silver. The fountain sprayed 
diamonds into the dark pool, from which came the ruddy 
flash of gold-fishes; the roses climbed the palms as if to 
reach the light. 

That evening he took a seat on the terrace. He heard 
below him the soft crooning of the sea, and felt its cool 
breath. Behind him was starlight and softly luminous 
mountains; in front, deep violet space . . . mystery, 
immensity. 

A small form came slowly along the terrace. As it 
drew near he saw it was the strange girl who was always 


120 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


alone. Once or twice she stopped, looking out over the 
balustrade to the sea. As she passed him he saw that her 
face had the vacant look of a sleep-walker. She sank on a 
bench, and took a glazed note-book from her bag. As she 
looked at it she sighed with weariness. Her head drooped 
forward and she slept. 

Another dark form drew near her, the furtive figure 
of a man. Softly he sat down on the same bench and 
seemed to edge nearer and nearer. 

Hugh rose, making unnecessary noise. The man, with 
a start, glanced his way and swiftly disappeared. Yet 
in that flash Hugh had recognized him ; it was that sinister 
individual, the Rat. 

Hugh went for a walk in the Condamine and did not 
return until half-past ten. He glanced down to the 
terrace; hunched on the bench, a solitary figure, the 
girl still slept. 

When he got back to the pension, he found it strangely 
upset. The two Swedish ladies were going off in a fiacre 
with their baggage. Their faces were very red, and 
they gabbled furiously. The Twitcher and the Sword- 
Swallower were talking in low tones. The Rat was no- 
where to be seen. 

“Perhaps,” whispered Teresa, the waitress, “I shouldn’t 
tell you, but madame and mademoiselle have left us. They 
say some one has gone into their room and stolen money. 
It was done this afternoon. Fortunately for me I was 
away at the time. It is very annoying. Voila! it is evi- 
dent we have in the house a thief.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


THE THIEF 

H UGH was preparing to leave the Pension Paoli. 
Its increasing atmosphere of fnrtiveness and sus- 
picion was getting on his nerves. He had taken 
a large, sunny unfurnished room in the Condamine and 
had bought a folding bed, a table, a chair, and some cook- 
ing utensils. Here he would be alone and quite free. He 
would spend his days in sketching, his evenings in read- 
ing. 

He was considering all this as he sat on a bench on 
the terrace just above that green promontory where they 
shot the pigeons. Even as he watched the slaughter was 
going on. A nimble lad would run out by one of the red, 
radiating paths and put a pigeon into one of the grey 
boxes; then he would retire and after a short interval 
the side of the box would collapse, leaving a bewildered 
bird facing an overwhelming freedom. Sometimes the bird 
would hop around stupidly, fearing to rise until a rub- 
ber ball bounding towards it hastened its decision. Bang! 
Bang! Generally the bird would drop on the green turf, 
to be swiftly retrieved by an eager dog. Sometimes, how- 
ever, it would get away and, minus a tail, circle over the 
sea, finally rejoining its fellows in front of the Casino. 
When a pigeon escaped, Hugh wanted to applaud for 
joy. But few escaped, and he was turning away in dis- 
gust when he saw the Calderbrooks. 

“Hullo!” he said, “Fm surprised. I thought you’d 
gone long ago.” 


122 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“No,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we decided to extend 
our stay. It’s really a lovely little place. We find the 
Casino so fascinating. We go there every day now.” 

“Do you still play?” 

“Oh, a little. Just for chicken-feed though. Father 
makes enough to pay for his cigarettes, while I generally 
get the Casino to stand afternoon tea. Oh, we’re very 
careful.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Calderbrook in his soft refined voice. 
“One has to be careful if one goes every day. However, 
an old fellow called Bender has taught me a system that 
so far has been very successful. You put three pieces on 
the passe and two on the first dozen, or three pieces on 
the manque and two on the last dozen. You have only 
six numbers against you. It’s safe.” 

“By the way,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we saw an 
American break the bank yesterday, a Mr. Fetterstein. 
He played the number seventeen in every possible way, 
staking the maximum. They had to ring for more money. 
It was quite interesting. He must have won over a hun- 
dred thousand francs. Well, Father, we’ll leave you with 
Mr. Kildair to finish your pipe, while Alice and I go in 
to try our luck.” 

When they had gone Mr. Calderbrook talked of various 
subjects, until suddenly dropping his voice, he said: 

“You see that man in black coming along the terrace — 
the tall thin one.” 

“The one with the clean-shaven face and the fixed 
smile ?” 

“Yes. That’s the great Krantz, the Chief of the Se- 
cret Police.” 

As he passed them the eyes of Krantz were focussed on 
their faces. 


THE STORY OF HUGH 123 

“There,” said Mr. Calderbrook, “he knew we were dis- 
cussing him.” 

Hugh looked after the detective. His right hand, held 
behind his back, was carrying what looked like a sword 
cane. It was a long and muscular hand, and Hugh noted 
that part of the little finger was missing. 

“They say,” said Mr. Calderbrook, “that he has all 
kinds of spies working for him and that he is quite un- 
scrupulous. People who displease him have a way of 
disappearing suddenly. But then everything is high- 
handed about this place. It is beyond the law. All kinds 
of strange things can be done here and hushed up, all 
kinds of crimes go unpunished. It seems to be run quite 
irresponsibly. The Casino is supreme and rules with a 
high hand. All it cares for is to get money. . . .” 

Mr. Calderbrook began to bore him, and Hugh ex- 
cused himself. He returned to the pension to prepare for 
his departure. 

“To-morrow,” he thought, “I shall go away and all 
these people will pass out of my existence. It is pleasant 
to think one can put them so quietly out of one’s life. 
Ah! the beauty of liberty!” 

He felt that he could not bear to remain more than one 
more night under the same roof with the Rat. The 
Twitcher and the Sword-Swallower were to be tolerated, 
but the Rat made him shudder. There are people who 
make us wish the world was bigger, that we might have 
more room to avoid them. The Rat was one of these; 
his very proximity was physically disagreeable. His skin 
was the colour of the fresh Gruyere cheese, except where 
his eye sockets darkened to chocolate. Criminal or not 
the man suggested reptilian perversions. 

When Hugh paid his modest bill, he received a thou- 


124 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


sand francs in change, and as he stuffed the small notes 
into his pocket-book, he was aware that the sharp eyes 
of the Rat were upon him. 

It was after ten o’clock and the Pension Paoli was very 
quiet. All the boarders were apparently at the Casino. 
The big building seemed deserted. 

Leaving the door of his room ajar, Hugh threw himself 
on his bed. Soon he heard the street door open and some 
one pass upstairs. It was the Rat. 

As he lay in the darkness, and listened to the sounds of 
the great gloomy house, a strange feeling of uneasiness 
began to creep over him. This grew so strong that after 
a bit he rose and went out on his little balcony. The air 
was exquisite. Over him flowed the river of night, and 
looking up into its lucid depths he saw the sky, its bed, 
pebbled with stars. Then his eyes drifted to the myriad 
lights that lay between him and the sea, lights now clear, 
now confused into a luminous mist. . . . 

What was that? Surely some one was moving softly 
in the passage? No; he was not wrong. Some one was 
trying the door of the next room, the Twitcher’s. But 
the Twitcher had locked it, and after one or two efforts 
the sound ceased. 

Then Hugh had an inspiration. Taking out his pocket- 
book he threw it on the bed. Enough light came from the 
window to show it black against the white counterpane. 
There ! the trap was baited. 

Footsteps again in the passage, fumbling, muffled. They 
were drawing nearer, they were opposite his door. In the 
darkness he heard hard, hurried breathing. His own 
heart was tapping like a hammer. Surely the footsteps 
were passing? No, they had halted. Then slowly, slowly. 


THE STORY OF HUGH 125 

his door was pushed open, and a black stealthy form crept 
to his bed. 

He held his breath, and waited. ... Now the dark 
shape was close. ... Now an arm reached out, and a 
hand seized the pocketbook. ... Now * 

Hugh leapt forward and closed the door. He was alone 
in the darkness with the intruder. He had done it. The 
Rat was trapped. 

“You dirty sneak-thief, I’ve got you,” he cried. 

He switched on the electricity, and the room leaped 
into light. Against the far wall, cowering and clutching- 
at it for support, was a figure in a black hood and cape. 

Then it was Hugh’s turn to start back and utter a 
cry of dismay. 

For framed in the black hood, and gazing at him wild- 
eyed with fear, was Margot Leblanc. 


CHAPTER SIX 


THERE WAS A LONG SILENCE 


1 . 

S HRINKING against the wall the girl looked up 
at him, her face sick with terror. Amazement 
turned him to stone. Then suddenly he recovered 
himself ; and his astonishment changed to disgust. 

“Well,” he said in a hard voice, “caught you in the 
act, didn’t I?” 

She did not answer. 

“I’m sorry, very sorry. I’d rather it had been any 
one else. Tell me, is there any reason I shouldn’t hand 
you over to the police?” 

No answer. 

“Speak, please. Is there any reason? . . 

Her arms dropped. She straightened up, and looked 
him full in the face. 

“There is. I’m starving. I haven’t tasted food for 
two days. . . .” Then she sank at his feet. 


2 . 

Two hours later they were in a lonely corner of a res- 
taurant. She had satisfied her hunger, and was sitting 
silent, downcast, sullen. 

He looked at her with keen, bright eyes. “Poor little 
devil!” he thought, “perhaps she isn’t so bad after all.” 

126 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


127 


Then aloud he said: “I suppose when you went to the 
Twitcher’s room your intention was to steal?” 

She hesitated. After all, what did it matter ? “Yes,” 
she answered. “I went down there to steal.” 

“You also stole the money belonging to the Swede 
women. . . .” 

“No, I didn’t do that. I swear I didn’t. . . 

He looked at her steadily. He did not believe her. 

“What are you going to do now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What’s going to become of you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He leaned back, his hands clasping his knee. He noted’ 
a tress of bright gold hair coiling over her hollow cheek. 

“I mustn’t leave her to her fate,” he thought. 

Bending forward he said impulsively: “Look here, let 
me lend you some money.” 

A deep flush stained her cheek. He, too, was one of 
them . . . the beasts. Sharply she answered: 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t choose to accept your aid.” 

“It seems to me you’re not in a position to refuse it; 
you haven’t a sou. To-morrow you’re to be turned out 
of your room. Madam will certainly keep all your be- 
longings. You will have nowhere to go. You have no 
friends here. You are not fit to do any work. You are 
on the verge of a break-down. Again I ask . . . what’s 
going to become of you?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yes, it does. Look here . . . suppose I lay a charge 
against you of entering my room with intent to steal, — 
will you deny it?” 


128 THE POISONED PARADISE 


“No.” 

“Well then, you are in ray power. You must submit 
to my conditions.” 

She looked at him sullenly. “What are they?” 

“I’m not going to lend you any money, but I am going 
to help you in my own way. First of all, I want you to 
promise me that you will never enter the Casino again.” 

She laughed bitterly. “I’ll promise that. I hate the 
place.” 

“Now, I’m taking a room in the Condamine. I want 
you to come there and be my house-keeper.” 

She could not keep the contempt out of her eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said sharply. “I see 
you don’t understand.” 

“You don’t mean . . . that?” 

“No, damn it, I don’t mean — that ” 

She looked at him with new interest, steadily, wonder- 
ingly. He went on: “It’s a big room. We’ll divide it 
into three, with screens and curtains. There will be your 
part, and my part, and a common one to be used as a 
kitchen and dining-room. Don’t fear. You’ll be as safe 
behind your curtain as if you were in a room with doors 
double-locked.” 

She had never met a man like this. Wonder widened 
her eyes. He laughed to see it, a frank boyish laugh. 

“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I don’t see why it won’t 
work, though. If I were a Frenchman, it surely wouldn’t. 
But we Anglo-Saxons are a cold-blooded lot. We’re 
idealists, given to doing strange, mad things. I give 
you my word of honour I will respect you as I would a 
sister. There you have it. We will be brother and sister. 
We are enough alike to pass for that. I had intended to 
do my own cooking, but that will be your job now. Then, 


THE STORY OF HUGH 


129 


while you are resting quietly and getting back your health, 
I will attack the Casino and get back your money.” 

“How will you do that?” 

“By playing. I hate to play, but if I do I have an 
idea I can win. At least I can afford to risk a thousand 
francs and with that I propose to win back the two thou- 
sand you need to take you to Paris.” 

“No, no. You mustn’t play. No one ever wins there. 
You’ll lose everything.” 

“Leave it to me. Come on now, it’s decided. That 
you trust me, is all I ask. Everything will come out 
right. In six weeks I promise you I’ll send you back to 
Paris with enough money to start your little shop. 
Brother and sister, — n’est ce pas?” 

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I am in your 
hands. You can do with me as you will.” 

Again he laughed that boyish laugh. “There! don’t 
look so tragic. Everything’s lovely. Come on, we’ll get 
back to the pension.” 

They walked in silence through the exotic gardens. 
The pink clock in the tower of the Casino pointed to half 
an hour after midnight ; the shutters were descending over 
the entrance doors. He looked at the place with a new 
interest. Hitherto it had meant nothing to him. Now 
he saw in it an antagonist. He was looking on a battle- 
ground where he would win or fall. On the morrow the 
fight would begin. 

So absorbed was he that he forgot the girl by his side. 
Then a soft sound aroused him. He looked down and 
saw that she was crying. 


END OF BOOK TWO 









BOOK THREE 


The Wheel 


\ 

t 


CHAPTER ONE 


THE TEMPLE OF CHANCE 

1 

M ONTE CARLO is various kinds of a jewel. 

In the morning it glitters like a diamond ; 
in the afternoon it gleams like a great pearl of 
the Orient; in the evening it glows with the mellow lustre 
of a sapphire. It has its moods of invincible beauty. 
There are times when one wonders if it is real and not 
the fabric of a dream. But of all its moods its glamour 
is, perhaps, most felt in that mellow moment that pre- 
cedes the setting of the sun. From earth and sky 
exhales a great serenity. In the golden air, a thou- 
sand windows shine like casements of romance, the sea 
melts placidly into the tranquil sky, and the mountains 
breathe tenderness and calm. 

It was at such a moment, reassuring to the soul, that 
Hugh, for the first time, mounted the seven steps that led 
to the temple of chance. The sun gleamed on the brass 
rods of the carpet, gleamed on the gold braid of the four 
porters who guarded the entrance, gleamed on the buttons 
of the little page boys that swung open the double doors. 
Behind the glass partition, leaning on a brass rail, and 
scrutinizing every one who climbed the steps, were three 
detectives. Characteristic of the place, — the eager wel- 
come ; the watching detectives ! 

Hugh mounted the steps and paused at the top, just 
133 


134 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


as he had seen so many others pause to look over the 
scene. 

Beyond the “Cheese,” the central garden was a vivid 
emerald, enamelled with patterns of pansies ; a breeze, pure 
and delicious, rustled the palms. Daintily dressed chil- 
dren were throwing crumbs to the lethargic pigeons. A 
shining Rolls Royce floated past and anchored in front 
of the Hotel de Paris, while a tall negro in a swallow-tail 
uniform descended in stately fashion and opened its doors. 
The space in front of the Cafe de Paris was starred with 
striped umbrellas and coloured with gay groups. The 
Roumanian orchestra was playing with sparkling aban- 
don and a crowd was whirling around the “Cheese.” The 
English dominated the throng; — tall, thin women with 
patrician noses, tall, thin men with grey hair and lean, 
fresh faces. It was a suave picture of elegance and ease. 

Turning to the left Hugh entered the bureau of admis- 
sion. The Nice train had just come in and behind the 
high curved counter the clerks cowered before the clam- 
ouring crowd. Seated at a commanding desk was the 
chief of the bureau, an owl like nrian with a crabbed air; 
he was the final arbitror, the judge from whom there was 
no appeal. Before him was a Swiss aubergiste who was 
trying to explain that if the clothes he wore were not 
good enough for the Casino, he could change them for 
better. Another rejected one, a stout woman who had 
foolishly given her occupation as a dressmaker, was point- 
ing out that the lady ahead of her who had just been 
granted a card was a femme galante , one of her clients 
who even owed her money. But to such protests no atten- 
tion was paid. A blank look, a shrug of the shoulders, — 
that was all. Judged by Casino standards and found 
wanting, they had to go away disconsolate. 


THE WHEEL 


135 


Hugh, however, had no such trouble. A brisk little 
interpreter bustled up; and he slipped a bill into the 
man’s hand. He was pushed forward in front of the 
others. 

“This gentleman is known to me,” said the interpreter 
with fluent audacity. “He is a celebrated artist dramatic 
de Londres.” 

So Hugh assumed the air of a jeune premier , and with 
many polite smiles was handed a card. 

“Now,” he murmured, “for the next step in the gam- 
bler’s progress !” A courteous flunkey ushered him into 
the atrium, a galleried hall designed to impress the visi- 
tor and put him in the proper frame of mind to enter the 
Rooms. It was of staid richness, of sober dignity. 
Through a vista of marble columns Hugh saw a circular 
refreshment counter, and nearby a bulletin board where 
a group were reading the latest despatches from the ends 
of the earth. On leather-padded benches men were smok- 
ing cigarettes, and women gossiping and criticizing all 
who passed. Other men and women strolled up and down, 
taking a breath of air after a strenuous spell at the 
tables. He overheard scraps of conversation. 

“Well, I’ve made my day, but the bank gave me a hard 
fight for it.” “Yes, a martingale’s deadly. It will always 
get you in the end.” 

Looking towards the left he saw three mysterious doors. 
From the center one a stream of people was pouring, with 
an expression on their faces of either impassivity or dis- 
gust, elation was rare. By the side doors another crowd 
was entering. Those to the left were eager and excited; 
those to the right calm and blase. These were the re- 
spective doors for the visitor and the habitue. It was 
through the visitors’ door that Hugh passed. At last! 


136 THE POISONED PARADISE 

He was on the threshold of the greatest gambling room on 
earth. 

First impression, — nasal. How could people breathe 
such air? It struck him like a blow in the face. It 
was so thick, so richly human, — a compound of phys- 
ical exhalations, cheap cosmetics and disease. It al- 
most daunted him. Second impression, — oral. A con- 
fused murmur of many voices. A discreet rumble, 
punctuated by the acrid cries of the croupiers and the 
click of rakes on counters. Third impression, — visual. 
To the right and left were walls of human backs sur- 
rounding pools of light. The light came from green 
shaded lamps that hung from heavy cords. Peering over 
a triple row of shoulders he caught a glimpse of a green 
table and a scuttling ball. 

He passed through a smaller room into a great central 
one. In contrast with the restful dignity of the atrium 
it was of a brilliant beauty. Huge columns of honey- 
coloured onyx seemed to strike the note of the decora- 
tion. Everything was in the same key, from the padded 
seats of yellow leather to the Watteau-like panels painted 
on the wall. Two immense chandeliers were tangles of gilt 
on which lights clustered like grapes on a vine. Every- 
thing seemed to shine, glisten, reflect. Even the inlaid 
floor was lustrous with the polish of a million gliding 
feet. Just as he had called the smaller room by the en- 
trance the “Grey Room,” so he called this the “Hall of 
Light.” From the gleaming floor to the vast dome it 
suggested light. 

There were five tables, and each was besieged by gam- 
blers. Those in the outer row stretched and strained to 
get their money on the table, marking the numbers in 
glazed note-books, shouting their manner of staking. 


THE WHEEL 137 

squabbling and scrambling for their gains. Hugh felt a 
little bewildered. 

As he stood there a very curious thing happened. A tall, 
distinguished looking woman, wearing a cream-coloured 
mantle, advanced to the centre of the hall. She took from 
under her mantle a plate of white china and deliberately 
let it fall to the floor. At the sharp crash those nearest 
turned, and in an instant she was surrounded by a curious 
crowd. Then as quietly as she had come she backed out 
and disappeared. Two attendants in light blue came for- 
ward and calmly gathered up the debris. The crowd, 
laughing, returned to the tables. 

While Hugh was w r ondering what it meant, the affable 
little Mr. Jarvis Tope bustled up to him. Mr. Tope wore 
a white waistcoat and white spats, and was, as the French 
say, “pinned at the four corners.” His round red face 
was wreathed in a smile of welcome. 

“Ha ! young man, so at last you venture into the cave 
of the dragon. Well, it’s good to see a fresh face among 
so many stale ones. What was all the excitement about?” 

Hugh told him of the lady and the plate. Tope 
laughed. 

“Oh, is that all ! Didn’t you know that to break china 
on the floor of the Casino is supposed to change one’s 
luck? It’s rather a desperate resort. The lady you saw 
must have been hard hit. Women believe in those things, 
mascots and so on. They bet on the number of their cloak- 
room check; they have their favourite tables and believe 
that the croupier can control the ball. Every woman who 
believes in any of these things is a fool; it’s astonishing 
how many are fools. Come, I’ll explain the game to 
you.” 

Going to what Mr. Tope called the “Suicide Table,” 


138 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


they pushed themselves into the triple row of standing 
spectators till they were behind the seat holders. These 
had a sphynx-like air of absorption. Piles of counters were 
methodically stacked before them, and their little note- 
books were scrupulously neat. Some were marking down 
dots and zig-zag lines, some columns of figures. They 
played occasionally and with deliberation. They were the 
regulars, the system workers, who sat every day in the 
same place at the same table. 

While Mr. Tope was explaining the different methods 
of playing, Hugh felt a light touch on his arm. Looking 
round he saw a sweet if somewhat over-emphasized face 
smiling up at him. The girl wore a bonnet that seemed 
to be made of tiny lilac flowers, and her hands were dain- 
tily gloved. Hugh thought at first that she had mistaken 
him for somebody else. 

“Listen, Monsieur. Lend me a louis. It will bring 
you luck.” 

But Mr. Tope frowned. “Don’t do it. Pretend you 
have no money.” 

Hugh awkwardly refused, and with a little grimace the 
girl went away. 

“One of the parasites of the place,” said Mr. Tope. 
“The Casino’s full of them. She spotted you at once for 
a newcomer. She’s on the watch for greenhorns. Now 
she’ll tell her sisterhood that you turned her down, and 
you’ll be less pestered. Never speak to a woman you 
don’t know on the floor of the Casino. In the end it will 
cost you money.” 

“I wonder the management doesn’t stop that sort of 
thing.” 

“They encourage everything that speeds up the gam- 
bling. Morality doesn’t exist as far as they are con- 


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139 


■cerned. All they want is to get your coin; and in the 
end they usually do.” 

“Do they get yours?” 

“Oh, yes, I lose sometimes. There’s a class of people 
who tell you they never lose. They’re known as the liars.” 

“That was a very pretty girl who spoke to me.” 

“Yes. There’s a story about her. She was engaged 
to a Frenchman who went to America and established him- 
self in business. He sent her money to buy her trousseau, 
and to pay her passage over. She was crazy about him, 
all eagerness to join him; but she was tempted to risk a 
little of the money at the tables. In the end she lost it 
all. She dared not tell him, so she never answered his 
letters. Since then she has lived a hectic existence. She’s 
an incurable gambler. A ruined life. . . . But come, I 
want to introduce you to two of the oldest habitues of the 
Rooms, veterans like myself. Mr. Galloway MacTag- 
gart of Strathbungo.” 

Hugh was forthwith presented to a tall wiry man, who 
enveloped his hand in a large dry grip. He had a grim 
spectacled face and thin-grey whiskers. 

“Welcome, malad,” said Mr. MacTaggart. “The Fra- 
ternal Order o’ the Yeeatic bids ye welcome tae this den o’ 
ineequity. And noo, if ye’ll alloo me, I’ll present ye tae 
the Grand Maister, Mr. Gimp o’ Cincinnati. Mr. Gimp 
has the disteenction o’ bein’ the auldest member.” 

Mr. Gimp was small and wiry. He was the neatest 
man Hugh had ever seen; even his eyes were neat. He 
had a puckered pink face, and white silky hair like the 
floss of the thistle. His moustache was like a wisp of 
cotton. He extracted the thumb of his right hand from 
the armhole of his waistcoat and presented two fingers 
for Hugh to wag solemnly. 


140 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Gimp’s feeling peevish,” said Mr. Tope. “He’s just 
won five francs and lost ten.” 

“Never play the goddamn game,” snorted Mr. Gimp. 
“When you catch me putting a cent on those tables, you 
can call me a goddamn fool and kick me round the ‘Cam- 
embert.’ ” 

“Well, after coming here for thirty years without miss- 
ing a season you ought to have enough of it.” 

“Darned sight too much. No place for a respectable 
man! Never enter the Rooms unless I’m obliged to. Just 
come in now to look for a friend. A hotbed of crooks 
and courtesans. Yes, and spies. Look at that damn in- 
spector edging nearer to see if he can’t hear what we are 
talking about. Bah! Look at that woman now. Why, 
she’d make a rotten egg smell like a rose. Well, I can’t 
stand it any longer. I’m off to breathe God’s good air. 
Au revoir.” 

With that Mr. Gimp stalked virtuously away. “He’s 
always like that,” remarked Mr. MacTaggart dryly. “An’ 
if ye come in the Casino an ’oor from noo ye’ll find him 
smokin’ his cigarette in the atrium. He’s one o’ the fix- 
tures o’ the place. It wouldna’ be complete withoot him. 
An’ there’s a whole lot mair in the same boax. A man 
frae Brazeel went aff his heid in the Rooms the ither day. 
‘Puir Chap!’ they were a-sayin’, but I telt them, ‘He’s 
nae worse nor the rest o’ us. We’re a’ daft in this estab- 
lishment.’ Whit’s yer impression o’ it, young man?” 

“I’m surprised to see so many old people in the Rooms.” 

“That’s right. Gamblin’s the last infirmity of ignoble 
minds. When folks are ower dodderin’ for wine an’ wim- 
men, gamblin’s a’ that’s left tae them. Look at that 
auld Bianca there. They say she wis the mistress o’ 


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141 


the King o’ Italy. Whit things she must hae seen! 
Noo she goes roon like a spectre mumblin’ an’ breakin’ 
wind every time she plays. Weel, I’m feelin’ auld an’ 
tired masel. Ma nerves are no whit they were. There’s 
nae doot it gets ye. It’s a crool, crool game. . . .” 

They sought the fresher air of the atrium and lighting 
their cigarettes sat down on a recessed divan of padded 
leather. 

“MacTaggart is our great hope,” said Mr. Tope. “He 
is patience and pertinacity personified. He has now been 
sitting at the same place at the same table from the be- 
ginning of the play to the end for two years.” 

“For three years,” said Mr. MacTaggart. “I’ve got 
the record o’ two hundred thoosand consecutive coups.” 

“MacTaggart claims he knows more about roulette 
than all the rest of us put together.” 

“So I do. Ye’re like a lot o’ children. Ye ken naeth- 
in’. When ye’ve spent night after night for three years 
compilin’ an’ analyzin’ permanencies, ye’ll begin tae hae 
some glimmerin’ o’ the mysterious workin’s o’ the laws o’ 
chance. I’ve studied the game noo for twenty years and 
I’m jist beginnin’ tae know a little, a verry little.” 

“Look !” said Mr. Tope, “there’s that poor little Em- 
slie girl waiting as usual for her mother.” 

On one of the benches near the exit from the Rooms 
Hugh saw a slight girl with a very sweet face. Her chest- 
nut hair was braided behind and her colouring was fresh, 
and girlish. She sat wdth her slim hands clasped in her 
lap, looking anxious and forlorn. 

“That,” said Mr. Tope, who seemed to know everything 
and everybody, “is one of the hardest cases. She’s only 
sixteen, and has been left a few thousand pounds by her 


142 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


grandfather. But her mother’s a gambler enragee. 
She’s lost all her own money, and now they say she’s play- 
ing with the girl’s.” 

At that moment a woman came from the Rooms, and 
the girl ran to her eagerly. The woman was tall and 
handsome, and her face was alight with joy. Opening 
her gold chain bag, she showed the girl the contents. 
They both laughed, almost hysterically, and went off arm 
in arm. With a start Hugh recognized the cream-col- 
oured cape; it was the lady who had broken the plate. 


2 . 

In the days that followed Hugh came to know the great 
building intimately. He gave fanciful names to the vari- 
ous Rooms. Beyond the “Hall of Light,” as he called 
the main gambling room, w r as the “Hall of Gloom.” In 
decoration it was heavy, dark, depressing. There was 
something Teutonic about it, even to the panels of lump- 
ish Amazons that filled in the wall spaces. On the only 
occasion he played there, he came away whistling the 
“Dead March.” 

To the right of the “Hall of Light” was a little gem 
of a room which contained only one table. He called it 
the “Room of the Opium Dreamer,” on account of the 
exquisitely painted ceiling of naked nymphs voluptuously 
sprawling on fleecy clouds. Its windows looked on the 
terrace and often he pulled aside the silken blind to mar- 
vel at the radiant beauty of the sea. The air in this 
room was unusually bad. 

Beyond this was what he called the “Hall of the Three 
Graces,” on account of the huge wall panel that dominated 
it. It represented three nude women against a Floren- 


THE WHEEL 143 

tine background. Mr. Tope gave him some curious infor- 
mation about this picture. 

“These,” he said, “were three demi-mondaines , frequent- 
ers of the Casino. They claimed to be Swiss : but it turned 
out that they were Austrian spies in the pay of Germany.” 

Hugh looked at them with a new interest. 

“When w T ar was declared all three cleared out in a 
hurry. The directer himself had to get away. He had, 
they say, gotten the Casino Company to acquire the golf 
links on Mont Agel, and right under the eyes of the French 
garrison he had all prepared for the installation of a wire- 
less outfit. It was an ex-captain of Uhlans. His son 
made a demonstration in favour of Germany in front of 
the Casino and was mobbed. . . . Oh, this was a great 
place before the war, a hot-bed of treason. I’m told the 
French Government had to put pressure on the Govern- 
ment of Monaco to clear them out. And now they’re 
creeping back again.” 

3. 

Hugh soon came to recognize the various types that fre- 
quented the place. The women known as the skimmers 
particularly interested him. They haunted the Rooms, 
hovering over the tables and waiting for a chance to grab 
the stakes of others. They were the cause of most of 
the disputes. In the course of an afternoon a dozen of 
these rows would occur. As a rule, the croupiers dis- 
creetly professed ignorance of the cause. Although the 
disputants often called one another nasty names, Hugh 
saw them come to blows only on one occasion. 

A Russian woman, said to be a princess ruined by the 
Bolshevics, was playing steadily. Twice a Frenchwoman 
with a face like a bulldog, reached out and grabbed her win- 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


144s 

ning stake. The Russian looked puzzled, but said noth- 
ing; she only watched and waited. As the Frenchwoman 
reached forward a third time she cried “Thief !” 

The Frenchwoman promptly slapped her face. The 
Russian looked at her in steady contempt, shrugged her 
shoulders and turned to go. Then a fury seized her, and 
swinging round, she struck the Frenchwoman a violent 
blow, clutched at her hat, her hair, tugged, scratched, 
slapped, a very wild cat of fury. The attendants sep- 
arated them. The Russian was marched off ; the French- 
woman dried her tears and declared triumphantly that 
the other would lose her ticket. But presently when the 
attendants returned, she, too, was led off. Hugh never 
saw either of them in the Casino again. 

He spent long hours studying the play. He took down 
numbers and poured over the permanencies. He felt 
quite at home now. He had a monthly card, and was 
confident, even eager to begin. One evening he left the 
Rooms with his mind made up. 

“To-morrow I cease to be a spectator. To-morrow I 
commence to play.” 


CHAPTER TWO 
a gambler’s debut 


1 . 


M 


ARGOT, would you mind coming here a mo- 
ment ?” 

The girl was drying her hands after wash- 
ing the supper dishes. “Yes, monsieur.’* 

“Oh, I say, I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘monsieur.’ It 
sounds as if I were treating you like a servant.” 

The girl was silent. Hugh went on. 

“Why can’t you call me by my first name, as I do you? 
If you don’t, I shall think you dislike me.” 

“Oh, please don’t think that. I would do anything to 
please you.” 

“Then why be so unfriendly?” 

“I don’t mean to. But . . . it’s hard.” 


“Why?” 

“Well . . . there’s such a difference between us. I 
am only a poor girl, a nobody. You are . . .” 

“No better than you are. Perhaps I’ve had just as 
hard a struggle in life as you have. I’ve always been 
poor. I’m poor now. I want to think you are my little 
sister, and I am your big brother. You must do the 
same.” 

“I’ll try. Please give me a little time. Perhaps, it 
will be easier.” 

“All right. And now please come here. I’d like you 
to look at something.” 


145 


146 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


He was sitting at the table with a big green book be- 
fore him. Each page was filled with columns and col- 
umns of figures. His face was eager, his eyes sparkling. 

“You know, I’m going to begin playing to-morrow.” 

“Oh, please don’t. It’s terrible how it gets a hold of 
you. And in the end it always means ruin.” 

“You don’t know me. I’m a pretty obstinate sort of 
chap. I’m going to gamble. Maybe I wanted to do so 
all along, and only waited for the excuse you’ve given me.” 

“What excuse?” 

“To win back the money you lost.” 

“You’re not going to gamble on my account.” 

“Of course, I am.” 

“I will refuse to take the money.” 

“All the same I am going to win it.” 

“After that you’ll stop?” 

“I don’t know. . . . There, don’t be so frightened. 
Come closer and look at these figures.” 

On a sheet of paper he had made the following diagram : 


t 



1 

3 

6 

12 

25 

52 

“The seven dots,” he explained, “represent a run of 
seven or more on any of the simple chances. The run 


THE WHEEL 


147 


breaks as you see, then returns once again. It’s a well- 
known formation. Well, I’ve got to get that before I 
begin to play.” 

“But it doesn’t happen very often, — only three or four 
times at a table in the course of the day’s play.” 

“Yes, but I have the run of all the tables, fourteen of 
them. I can range the whole place. By glancing over 
the shoulders of those who are taking numbers, I can tell 
if there is anything in my line. When I find the com- 
bination I am seeking, I start staking in louis the sums 
I have marked.” 

“You only stake one the second time. . . .” 

“Yes, that’s a buffer. I neither win nor lose if I gain 
that coup. I have to do that in order to ease up on my 
progression. Otherwise it would increase too rapidly. 
Then on the third, fourth, and fifth terms of my progres- 
sion, I stand to win a louis only, but on the sixth term 
I win two louis, and on the seventh term, four. I use 
this progression because I have only a hundred louis at 
my disposal. I want to make a progression of seven 
terms, and I want my gains to increase as my stake in- 
creases. The great defect of the ordinary martingale is 
that you often find yourself obliged to risk quite a big 
sum to win a single unit.” 

She continued to look at the figures frowningly. 

“You see,” he went on eagerly, “to beat me the bank 
will have to follow up the first big run of seven or more 
by a second of eight, after a single break. Now I have 
examined a book of the records of the play at the second 
table for a whole year, and I haven’t found a single case 
of this happening. So you see, I feel pretty safe. I only 
want to make three wins a day, three louis. At that rate, 
in about seven weeks I shall have all your money back. 


148 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


You can return to Paris, start your shop, and live hap- 
pily ever after. Great scheme, isn’t it?” 

“What if you lose?” 

“I can’t. It isn’t conceivable.” 

“In roulette it’s always the inconceivable that happens.” 

“No, I’m quite convinced. Armed with this system, I 
am going to the Casino just as confidently as if I were 
going to draw money from the bank. Of course, I know 
it means patience, watching, walking miles between tables ; 
but that will be fun. I don’t want to win too easily.” 

He continued to pore over his records, and she went 
softly about her work. When she had finished she looked 
toward him. In the shaded lamp-light his face was joy- 
ously eager ; he was tapping his white teeth with his pen- 
cil, and his eyes were absorbed. 

“Good night,” she said timidly. 

“Good night,” he answered absently, without looking up. 

2 . 

He worked very late over his permanencies and awoke 
to bright sunshine, and the fragrance of fresh coffee. 

He had divided the room in two by a heavy green cur- 
tain. The part with the door and the little cabinet de 
cuisine was the living part; the other was for sleeping. 
This he had divided still further by a grey curtain so 
that they each had a little compartment with a bed. The 
girl seemed doubtful of this arrangement at first. 

“I don’t see why it matters,” he said indignantly, 
“whether there is a curtain or a three foot wall between 
us. Remember we are brother and sister. Honour and 
decency are better protectors than bolts and bars.” 

With this fine sentiment he disposed of her objections. 
There was no doubt he thoroughly believed it; and when 


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149 


he retired more or less weary behind his curtain, he slept 
as calmly as if he were alone in the room. 

On this particular morning, having slept late and well, 
he rose light-heartedly, singing as he dressed. When he 
entered that part of the room that served them in com- 
mon, he found that Margot had set his breakfast on the 
table, and was preparing to go to market. She was 
dressed like the women of the country, with a shawl over 
her bright hair. Each morning she would ask him: 

“What would you like for lunch?” 

“Oh, anything ; I don’t care.” 

“No, don’t say you don’t care. You know I like to 
please you.” 

Then he would think profoundly. “I tell you what, 
. . . Give me ... a surprise.” 

With a gesture of despair she would go away. She 
was rather a good cook, but he seldom noticed what he 
ate. Now he stopped her as she was going out. “Had 
your breakfast?” 

“Oh, yes, long ago.” 

“I wish you would call me in the morning so that we 
can take it together. I like you to talk to me while I’m 
eating. Sit down and talk now. You’re not in sueh a 
hurry. Come, take a cigarette.” 

“You know I never smoke.” 

“I wish you would. It’s so chummy. Anyway, sit 
down. That’s right. Your hair’s lovely when it glis- 
tens in the sunshine. You know, you’re looking ever so 
much better already. Your chin is getting round, and 
there is actually a delicate rose colour in your cheeks. 
Your face is far more English than French. Some day 
if you’ll pose for me, I’ll paint you. This coffee’s aw- 
fully nice. . . As he rattled on in his gay manner, the 


150 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


girl listened with a grave smile. There was a curious look 
in her eyes, a tenderness almost maternal. 

“I say,” he went on, “I didn’t tell you I went to the 
Pension Paoli yesterday. I had a talk with Terese, the 
black-eyed Terese. She gave me some news.” 

“Yes, what?” 

“You remember that unsavoury sort of a chap who 
made such a bad impression on everybody, — I used to call 
him the Rat.” 

“I never liked him.” 

“Well, do you know what the mystery was that seemed 
to surround him? The poor harmless fellow was a priest, 
a cure who had slipped away from his flock, dressed in 
everyday clothes, and was having a good time. I don’t 
blame him, poor devil. He wanted to be free, to taste life 
just once, before going back to his black skirts and his 
prayer-book. I expect he’s doing bitter penance for it 
now. He was recognized by an old abbe and there was no 
end of a row. He was haled off by two burly priests, 
crying like a child.” 

“It just shows how one should never judge people.” 

“And you remember those two Swede women?” 

“They enjoyed eating so much.” 

“Yes, and they declared some one had entered their 
room and stolen money? That, too, was wrong. The 
mother came the other day to the pension and told mad- 
ame the money had been found. The girl had put it be- 
tween the pages of a very dull novel. When she came to 
finish the book she found the bills. So all’s well that ends 
well.” The girl said nothing. She remembered that he had 
once suspected her of taking this money, and the thought 
still pained her. “Come on,” he continued gaily, “let’s go 


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151 


out together. Remember to-day I leap into the arena. 
To-day I make my debut as a gambler.” 

3. 

It was half past ten when Hugh entered the Casino. 

The Rooms in the forenoon presented a very different 
aspect from the one with which he was familiar. The air, 
though stagnant, was not obnoxious. The rumble of 
voices was subdued to a discreet hum. Only five roulette 
tables were running. Every one had an air of knowing 
every one else. In place of the fever and scrabble of the 
afternoon there was a suave and amiable courtesy. The 
regular Monte Carloites were taking advantage of the 
morning calm to play their systems. Hugh stood by the 
table where the majority of the system players were. 
They were mostly ageing men, neatly dressed, bespec- 
tacled, business-like. The records in their tiny note- 
books were scrupulously kept from day to day. They 
played but seldom, and then generally with flat stakes. 
At the end of the season their books showed probably 
only modest gains. The little old lady who took down the 
numbers for the Monte Carlo Gazette worked at this table. 
Every day, year after year, she sat there, dressed in rusty 
black, looking rather sour. She made quite a lot of money 
by giving up her place for a small consideration to any 
who would pay for it. 

Next to Hugh stood a very shabby old man. His 
trousers were baggy and frayed, his braid-trimmed coat 
of a pattern of a bygone day. He had a weak chin, bulg- 
ing eyes, a heavy grey moustache, and a curious air of 
faded gentility. He had been pointed out to Hugh as an 
Italian nobleman, the Count Viviano, who had gambled 


152 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


away all his estates and now lived on a small pension. The 
old man stood for a long time gazing at the table in a 
strangely absorbed manner. Hugh, who saw things with 
an artist’s eye, noticed that his hands had big veins and 
a glazed look. They trembled almost constantly and were 
the only sign of emotion in a figure otherwise calm. 

Suddenly the old man began to fumble in the pocket 
of his waistcoat and drew forth a blue oblong placque 
representing a thousand francs. He waited till the ball 
had been spun, then reaching over unsteadily, placed it 
on the first dozen. He tried to look unconcerned. He 
lost. Again the ball was spun and again Hugh saw him 
fumble, draw out another pale blue placque, and place 
it tremblingly on the same dozen as before. Again he 
lost. The next time he put a blue placque on both the first 
and second dozen. Alas ! the third dozen came. He 
seemed in doubt whether to stay or go away. His agita- 
tion was pitiable. Again the ball was spun. Many looked 
at him to see what he would do. Just at the last moment, 
he drew from another pocket two more blue placques, and 
put one on the first dozen, the other on the third. Was 
ever such infernal luck ! The second dozen won. 

Curious and commiserating glances were cast at him. 

The old count looked dazed. With shaking hands he 
took from the inside of his coat a shabby pocket-book 
and drew from it all the money it contained, a hundred 
franc note and a few small ones. He threw them on the 
first dozen. Again he lost. He was broke. 

And as he stood there like a man in a dream, as if 
to mock him, the first dozen came again and again. Six 
times it repeated, and each time the man seemed to grow 
older, more crushed, more hopelessly stricken. He con- 
tinued to look at the table as if fascinated ; then, with the 


THE WHEEL 


153 


saddest face Hugh had ever seen, he slowly left the room. 

Another figure now attracted the attention of the on- 
lookers. A tall man was plastering the table with louis 
and Hugh recognized Mr. Fetterstein. He looked the 
typical captain of industry, solid, powerful, dominating. 
His face, slightly Jewish in type, was bold, and massive. 
His eyes changed from a twinkle of amusement to a look 
of profound concentration. There was something unshak- 
able about him. He played imperturbably. When he 
lost, he laughed ; when he gained, he seemed indifferent. 
At present he was winning. He had covered the number 
fourteen and all its combinations. Fourteen came. He 
repeated, again putting the maximum on fourteen. There 
was a murmur. Fourteen again. Once more he put the 
maximum on fourteen. The croupier who spun the ball 
looked nervous and worried. The Chef looked at him with 
a frown, as if to say, “There are thirty-five other numbers. 
As you value your promotion avoid the fourteen.” Again 
the man spun. A great shout went up. . . . Fourteen . 

As he was paid with the usual impressive deliberation, 
Mr. Fetterstein folded up the wad of mille notes he had 
gained and put them away. He had won over thirty thou- 
sand francs, — but what was that to him, a millionaire? He 
went on playing, but the croupier who had been throwing 
was changed. 

Hugh saw many people whom he knew, among them 
the Calderbrook family. The ladies were playing a lively 
game and, even this early in the morning, looked rather 
excited. On his way out, he passed the forlorn Emslie 
girl in the atrium, waiting for her mother, and in the 
vestibule, he encountered Mr. Gimp rolling a cigarette. 
The little man nodded curtly. His puckered pink face and 
his snowy white hair gave the impression of frostiness. 


154 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


When Hugh reached home he said to Margot : 

“You know, I was so interested watching every one I 
forgot to play. Well, this afternoon . . ” 


4. 

In the afternoon the trains and yellow busses from Nice 
had disgorged their tourist hordes and turned the Casino 
into a welter of humid humanity. There were cheap- 
trippers taking a flutter, skimmers from the slums of 
Nice, sight-seers from every land under the sun, flaunting 
femmes de luxe, evil faces of the underworld, — the whole 
mob of strange invaders which a Monte Carloite finds so 
little to his liking. As fourteen tables were running, Hugh 
soon found an opportunity to try his system. He made 
three wins in the course of two hours. In neither case had 
he to fall back on his progression. He was elated and 
having finished for the day, amused himself by making 
sketches of the crowd. 

By and by he wandered to the first trente-et-quarante 
table where a big game was going on. An American mil- 
lionairess was playing as high as the limit allowed. She 
had before her a heap of pink placques, like cakes of soap, 
representing five thousand francs each; she tossed them 
around as carelessly as if they had no value. At one end 
of the table, Hugh noticed a tall distinguished-looking 
Englishman with an eye-glass ; at the other, the Twitcher. 

Hugh was admiring the superb insouciance of the 
American woman, who had lost twenty-five thousand 
francs in five minutes when he suddenly saw the Twitcher 
throw a bundle of mille notes on the red. There were 
evidently twelve of them, a maximum. By Jove! the 
Twitcher certainly was going it! Hugh watched with 
breathless interest. At the same time he saw the English- 


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155 


man throw a similar sum on the black. The table was 
covered with big notes and placques. Every one awaited 
the turn of the cards with breathless interest. 

“Couleur perd” 

The Twitcher had lost his twelve thousand francs. His 
face grew very pale. Then he reached forward. Just 
as the croupier was about to rake in his wad of bills he 
grabbed them up again, and crammed them into his pocket. 

“I made a mistake,” he announced calmly. “I meant 
to play on black.” 

“But Monsieur has lost. . . .” 

“I don’t care. I’ve got my money back. If you want 
to get it, you will have to take it from me. But I warn 
you I will make a desperate fight for it. It is all I have in 
the world. If I lose it, I am ruined. I will then kill my- 
self. All I have, I have lost in this cursed den of thieves. 
You won’t get this without a struggle. And again, I 
warn you, I am armed.” 

The crowd fell back, seemingly admiring his daring. 
Two lackeys in blue and gold advanced threateningly, but 
the Twitcher put his hand to his hip pocket in a signifi- 
cant fashion. 

“Look out,” he said quietly. “I am going away. If 
any one lays a hand on me I will defend myself.” 

Then with a leisurely gait a,nd an air of triumph he 
walked out of the Casino. 

The whole thing was over in a moment. The inspectors 
came crowding round. The floor director, a bandy-legged, 
pot-bellied man with a stubby grey beard, hurried up ; he 
was joined by another man with goggle eyes and a face 
like a mulatto. They talked, gesticulated, shrugged their 
shoulders. There was nothing to be done. A fracas on 
the floor of the Casino, that was inconceivable ! Legally 


156 THE POISONED PARADISE 

they could not claim the money. It was a gambling debt. 
Let it go! 

So the storm subsided. The croupiers recovered from 
their stupefaction. They raked in the other winnings and 
paid the winners. Among the latter was the tall English- 
man who had played on black. He did not seem to un- 
derstand French. He kept saying : “Mo-ah ! Mo-ah !” 
and point to his stake. They paid him one by one twelve 
crisp bills of one thousand francs each. He deliberately 
folded up the notes and went away. 

That evening Hugh returned from a walk by way of 
Beausoleil. Outside of a cafe of the lower sort, he saw 
two men smoking. In spite of the darkness, he recog- 
nized the Twitcher and the tall Englishman. Hugh was 
so curious, that he sat down and ordered something to 
drink. He had not waited long when two men approached 
from the other direction. They were Bob Bender and the 
detective Krantz. Bob stepped before the drinking couple. 

“Well, you brought it off,” he said in a not unfriendly 
way. 

The tall Englishman laughed. “Yes, damn you, we 
got twelve thousand out of you.” 

Krantz stepped forward. “Let me congratulate you, 
gentlemen. It is not every one gets ahead of us so easily. 
But we do not forget. I would strongly advise you to go 
away immediately.” Again the Englishman laughed. 

“Bah! What do we care for you now? We have 
crossed the frontier. We are on French soil. We snap 
our fingers at your little tin-pot Principality.” 

Krantz smiled pleasantly. He spoke in his silky voice, 
rubbing his hands together. Again Hugh noticed that the 
little finger of the right was missing. 

“We know all about you,” he purred. “We have your 


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157 


record in France, England, America. We don’t want you 
here. You had better get out.” 

“What if I refuse?” 

“Refuse! Well . . .” Krantz rubbed his hands still 
harder and continued in his cheerful, chirping way, 
“Listen . . .” With his lips he blew a shrill, peculiar 
whistle. From the shadow across the road half a dozen 
dark shapes detached themselves. 

“After all,” said Krantz, “the frontier is very near, 
the other side of the street, to be precise. It would be 
easy to take you over there by force. Once we have you, 
. . . there’s no saying what might happen.” 

The Englishman made a grimace. He seemed to reflect. 
Finally he banged his hand on the table. 

“You go to hell,” he said. 

Krantz blandly said good-night, and taking Bob Ben- 
der by the arm went quietly away. The mysterious shad- 
ows across the street melted again into the deeper shadow. 
But the Twitcher and the Englishman did not laugh any 
more. Presently the Englishman rose. 

“I expect he’s right. We’d better go.” 

Hugh went thoughtfully homeward. 

“Well, that’s one system,” he said to himself, “that will 
take some beating.” 

5. 

In the weeks that followed he had no difficulty in mak- 
ing his three louis a day, and in no case did he need to go 
beyond the fourth term of his progression. It was some- 
times difficult to find the combination necessary for his 
coup; but once he found it, he played with an almost 
mechanical assurance and considered the louis of gain as 
good as in his pocket. He had earned it. 


158 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


His favourite among the rooms was the “Hall of the 
Three Graces.” It was brilliant with many mirrors, and 
the chandeliers were like cascades of light. The air was 
better too. At the end table, sitting directly under the 
Three Graces, Mr. MacTaggart played his system. His 
grave air of a church elder seemed to be a standing re- 
proach to what he called, “Them shameless hussies above 
ma heid.” 

In the pauses between play, Hugh became familiar with 
the strange characters of the place. He knew them by 
their nicknames, and made sketches of them in his note- 
book. He never wearied of watching these detraqwes of 
the game. He would sit for hours on one of the couches of 
padded leather, forgetting to play in his absorbed interest. 

Often after he had gained his “day,” he would es- 
cape from the fetid air of the Rooms, from the sordid eyes 
in the mean faces, from the monotony of excitement, and 
seek a quiet corner of the Cafe de Paris. There he would' 
sit and smoke, pervaded by a sense of utter content: his 
strenuous moment over. The Casino was paying for his 
tea, his cakes. The Casino was his banker, his provider, 
a charitable institution erected for hs benefit. He looked 
at it, so peaceful in the afternoon sunlight. No hint of the 
scrabbling mob behind its biscuit-coloured walls. 

Perhaps after all it was not so black as they painted it. 
Perhaps it did not do all the harm they claimed. People 
amused themselves, lost money they could afford to lose, 
went away satisfied. No, it was a very charming institu- 
tion indeed. It was very good to him. It would give 
him all the money he wanted. He was drunk with suc- 
cess. He loved the place. 

Then suddenly . . . woof! his system went all to pieces. 


CHAPTER THREE 


THE SMILES AND FROWNS OF FORTUNE 

1 . 

“ SAY, Margot, I think I’ll go to the Casino to-night.” 

The girl looked at him in surprise. It had been 
his habit after supper to light his pipe and read 
until bedtime, or else work at his eternal permanencies. 
She had enjoyed these quiet evenings in the glow of the 
shaded lamp, bending over a bit of embroidery, listening 
to the puff of his pipe, and the rustle of his Daily Mail. 

“I didn’t make the ‘necessary’ to-day, — only a couple 
of louis. The Rooms were so squalid I got a beast of 
a headache, and had to take a walk on the hill. I’ll get 
that extra win this evening.” 

“Oh, please don’t go. Something tells me if you do 
you’ll be unlucky.” 

“Nonsense. It’s not a question of luck. My system 
is misfortune proof. Luck or no luck it will win. If you 
are lonely, why don’t you go to the cinema, and amuse 
yourself?” 

But Margot did not want to go out, so with a last glance 
at her sweet face under its coils of gold he left the 
room. 

“Good little sort,” he thought. “I’m really getting 
very fond of her.” 

As he emerged from the huddle of houses, a moon the 
shape and colour of a musk melon was rising from the sea. 

159 


160 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


The two cement arms of the harbour held in their closed 
fists the harbour lights, one emerald, the other ruby. 

“The green of hope,” he thought, “aye, and the crim- 
son of tragedy .” He walked slowly up the steep hill, re- 
flecting that three months ago he would have climbed it 
only with an effort. How this place had bucked him up ! 
He must be careful though. Too much Casino, bad air, 
excitement, — that was already affecting him. Witness his 
splitting headache that afternoon. He doubted, though, 
if he could stay away from it now. It certainly got 
one, — roulette ! The great wheel which symbolized all the 
smaller wheels whirled you helplessly with it ! It was 
like an eddy in which the players were circling, getting 
nearer and nearer the centre, until . . . down to ruin. 
Ah! the Wheel! the Wheel! In the evening he found the 
Casino quite different from the rest of the day. The asth- 
matic system-players of the morning were in their beds ; 
the cheap trippers and skimmers of the afternoon had 
returned to Nice; only four roulette tables were running 
and the quietness was almost startling. 

This was the time when the great hotels poured forth 
their streams of wealth and fashion, the hour of the elite. 
Seated on one of the yellow divans beside the money chang- 
ing booths, he watched the parade. The men wore dinner 
jackets and their faces were flushed with wine. They had 
been playing golf or tennis, or motoring in long, luxurious 
cars; now armed with tickets for the private rooms they 
came to cap the day with the excitement of losing a few 
hundred louis. With sparkling eyes and a fluttering air 
of excitement, their women followed them. Some of them 
were half naked, like savages. Many had the arms of 
washerwomen and the speckled shoulders of kitchen maids. 
Others were skraggy, with flat greenish busts and stringy 


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161 


necks. Each sought to outvie the other in the gorgeous- 
ness of her raiment. There were robes of shimmering 
beads, robes of rich brocade, robes of delicate lace, robes 
of exquisite embroidery, robes trimmed with gold, and 
robes hung with lustrous sequins. There were old ugly 
women in lovely dresses, worthless women with small for- 
tunes on their backs. This luxury and extravagance had 
something barbaric about it. Hugh had never seen any- 
thing like it before. It seemed as if these people had 
dressed up purposely to amuse him. 

“Who toils to keep it up?” he wondered. “What suffer- 
ing and sacrifice lies behind it? It’s enough to make a 
chap turn socialist.” 

After a while he rose. A number of women with elab- 
orately painted faces were going from table to table, 
pretending to watch the game, but turning to gaze at 
some man player with a peculiar little smile. If he took 
no notice they would sidle off again. 

Hugh saw many people he knew, among them Mrs. and 
Miss Calderbrook. The Calderbrook family seemed to live 
in the Rooms now. This evening Mr. Calderbrook was 
not with them, and they were taking advantage of his 
absence to play with louis instead of five franc pieces* 
When Hugh saw them lose five louis, he shook his head 
in mock warning, but they were too engrossed to notice 
him. Their faces were flushed, their eyes excited. He 
saw Mrs. Calderbrook take a bill of five hundred francs 
from her purse and change it into red ohips. He was won- 
dering if she was going to risk it all at one time, when his 
attention was distracted; his own moment to play had 
come. 

The even numbers had been up eight times running; 
then there had been a break to the odd ; then another even. 


162 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


This was his chance. He put a louis on the odd. He lost. 
He put another louis on the odd. Again he lost. This 
time he was rather pleased, for it was his buffer stake, 
and if he had won he would have been where he started. 
He settled down to his defence. He put three louis on 
the odd. A loss. He increased it to six. Again a loss. 
It was beginning to be interesting. Only once before had 
he gotten so far in his progression. Still with calm as- 
surance he put twelve louis on the odd. Curiously enough 
the number twelve came up. Lost ! Then quite suddenly 
all his confidence deserted him. He began to get fright- 
ened. He fumbled in his pockets. The next stake was 
to be twenty-five louis. Quick ! the ball was already spin- 
ning. He handed a note for five hundred francs to the 
croupier. 

“Impair. . . .” 

Then he heard the monotonous cry of the spinner: 
“ Numero deux , pair , noir et manque” 

It was incredible, a conspiracy against him. It seemed 
as if the odd numbers had ceased to exist. He was down 
to his last stake, fifty-two louis. As he threw it on the 
table a strange recklessness surged up in him, the irre- 
sponsibility that takes hold of the gambler and makes 
him risk his last dollar on the spin. He had a miserable 
moment of suspense, then with a nonchalant air the spin- 
ner twitched away the ball. Number twenty. . . . 

He had lost everything. He was dazed. The great 
Hall of Light seemed to be full of dark shadows, and 
the faces of those around him touched with mockery. He 
was turning to go when a hand gripped his arm. He be- 
held at his elbow the contumelious countenance of Mr, 
Crimp.; 


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163 


“How much d’ye want?” snapped the little man, open- 
ing a large pocketbook. 

“Nothing. I’ve lost everything. Broke! Couldn’t 
pay you if I borrowed.” 

“How much d’ye want?” 

Hugh scarcely knew what he was saying. “I’ve lost 
two thousand. I’d probably win it back this time if I 
could go on. It can’t always keep coming even.” 

“Here, take this two thousand.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Take it, I say.” 

Hugh took the notes and threw them on the impair just 
as the ball was slackening its spin. “ N timer o treize , noir, 
impair et manque .” 

He had won at last. He took from the table the four 
thousand francs, and returned Mr. Gimp his two bills, say- 
ing: 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“I know I shouldn’t.” 

“Well, I don’t know how to thank you. You saved me. 
But there. . . . Bang goes my system.” 

“Mighty good job, too. Your system was no use. You 
were playing against a phenomenon. Don’t you see the 
phenomenon was lying in wait for you, and sooner or later 
you were going to go up against it. Bah! this rotten 
place. Let’s go into the atrium and have a smoke. When 
I see these fools all crazy over that rotten wheel I am 
ashamed of the human race.” 

Sitting on her usual seat near the door was the Emslie 
girl ; she seemed very tired and started up every time any 
one came out. 

“There!” said Mr. Gimp fiercely, “just look at that kid. 


164 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Should be in her bed hours ago. Waiting for her fool 
of a mother who is playing like the devil in the salon prive. 
If you were to open that woman’s head you’d find a rou- 
lette wheel instead of a brain.” 

As Hugh left the Casino the night air seemed delicious. 
The moon was now perfect in shape, — a moon worthy 
even of Monte Carlo, dappling the oily swell of the harbour 
with pools of playful quicksilver. He sat on a bench and 
watched it till his serenity returned. 

When at last he entered their room, the lamp was 
turned very low and behind the grey curtain that divided 
them he heard the girl breathing gently. 


2 . 

After breakfast next morning, Hugh sat figuring 
over his green book of permanencies. Finally he 
said: 

“See here, Margot, I think I’ll have to change my sys- 
tem.” 

“Why, what’s the matter with it?” 

“Well . . . you see I have to w r alk about so much be- 
tween the tables. It tires me out.” 

“I thought you didn’t like to ‘win too easily’?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind not winning easily.” 

“Ah ! you’ve been losing.” 

“No, I haven’t. My capital’s intact and I have five 
hundred francs of gain. But . . . well, I’m tired of it. 
I want a change.” 

“What are you going to try now?” 

“I call it a pattern system. You see I set the bank a 
task. . . .” 


THE WHEEL 


165 


“I don't see.” 

“Look here then. Look at this diagram.” 



2 


“These figures represent the dozens arranged in three 
columns. They form a certain pattern, a pattern of 
seven. Now I sit comfortably at a table (no more walk- 
ing for me), and take down numbers, arranging both the 
dozens and columns in three rows. When my figures 
begin to accumulate, I look back to see if I cannot find 
a coincidence between the pattern I am making, and the 
one that has gone before. When I find this, and the pat- 
tern duplicates as far as the sixth figure I simply bet 
that it won’t go as far as the seventh. That is to say, 
suppose I get a second set of figures similar to those I 
have set down here as far as the sixth, I simply bet against 
the repetition of the last. Am I clear?” 

“Not very, — but I understand.” 

“What do you think of it?” 

“Fantastic.” 

“Not at all. I am defying the bank to repeat the same 
combination of dozens or columns in a comparatively 
short space of time. The odds are overwhelmingly in my 
favour. You see in this game one has certain advantages 
over the bank. One can choose one’s moment to enter, 


166 THE POISONED PARADISE 

and one can retire when one wants. Also one can make a 
progression.” 

“Are you making one?” 

“Yes, I begin by putting a hundred francs between the 
two dozens on which I am betting. If that should fail, 
I will increase to three hundred francs, and then if neces- 
sary to a thousand. In the first two cases I win fifty 
francs, in the third a hundred. I would always bet, of 
course, against the corresponding dozen or column of 
the combination I am following. In short, to finally beat 
me the bank needs to produce a coincidence of nine. That, 
you must admit, is extraordinary.” 

“It is a game of the devil. Anything may happen.” 

“Well, I’m going to get four wins a day. That will 
mean two hundred francs. At that rate in about ten 
days I will have your two thousand francs, and you can 
go back to Paris and start your little shop.” 

“You seem in a hurry to get rid of me.” 

“No, it’s not that. . . . But you know we can’t go on 
like this indefinitely. It would look queer. I have to 
think of your reputation.” 

“Don’t bother about my reputation. As for your own, 
and the opinion of your friends . . . well, I am very dis- 
creet, am I not? We never go out together.” 

“No, no one need ever know. And after all we have 
nothing to reproach ourselves with. We’re playing the 
game like two good pals. Our consciences are clear.” 

He let the matter drop there ; but the question of Mar- 
got’s future worried him. He knew he would always be 
interested in her, and that it would hurt him if any ill be- 
fell her; he was beginning to think of her as if she were 
really his sister. 


THE WHEEL 


167 


3. 

Hugh found his new system absorbing, but very fatigu- 
ing. Looking back through rows of figures for coinciding 
groups was something of a mental strain. When, however, 
his opportunity came to play, he did so with calm certi- 
tude. In no instance was he beaten. It seemed as if the 
powers of correspondence exhausted themselves after the 
sixth term. 

Sitting snugly at one of the tables with pencil and note 
book, he would lose all sense of his surroundings. He was 
alone with the wheel; the rest was a dream. Vaguely he 
was aware of players reaching over his shoulders, and of 
the monotonous voices of bored croupiers. Sometimes a 
dispute would arouse him from his distraction and amuse 
him a little; but though he often could have settled it, he 
never “butted in.” It was none of his business. Also he 
never handed any one their winnings. The one time when 
he had done so he had handed to the wrong person. For- 
tunately it had been only a question of ten francs and the 
bank had promptly paid a second time. After that, how- 
ever, when people asked him to pass money he gave them 
a rake and let them get it for themselves. 

During the long hours at the table Hugh entered into 
conversation with his various neighbours, and made many 
of these gambling acquaintances so easily made, so easily 
unmade. Roulette is a destroyer of reserve ; its courtesies 
mean nothing, and people who chat at the table, when they 
meet afterwards on the terrace, stare frigidly. 

Of these acquaintances the only one with whom he be- 
came in any way friendly was a one-legged Irishman with 
red hair, Major Fitzoswald. He played a dashing game, 
always building around the number thirty-two. When 


168 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


he won he won heavily ; but more often he lost. He had 
a jolly little wife and four children, ranging from a baby 
to a girl of seven; and when he had finished gambling in 
the afternoon, he would hobble out of the Casino on his 
crutches and join them in the sand pit near the dove-cot. 
It was said that he had lost his leg in a glorious action 
on the Somme front. 

One day Hugh was amazed to see Mr. Gimp actually 
playing. The little man was standing erect and business- 
like at the t rente et quurante table opposite the Amer- 
ican millionairess. She had a tiny mannikin in front of 
her as a mascot. On one finger was an immense diamond, 
and around her neck glimmered a double string of superb 
pearls. Her blonde beauty suggested pearls ; and her wide- 
set blue eyes, mobile mouth and very strong white teeth 
made her look like a happy child. Every time she played 
Mr. Gimp would play on the opposite chance. But while 
the honey-coloured beauty threw on heaps of placques, 
now rising to rose, now dropping to azure, Mr. Gimp 
played only a modest louis. Behind his hand he whis- 
pered to Hugh: 

“This is the best system of all. It’s known as ‘playing 
the corpse.’ You get opposite a big player and play the 
contrary. When they have to make a progression, you 
win on all its terms. It goes without saying they’re dead 
ones from the start. The Casino will get their money. 
You’re playing on the side of the Casino, that’s all. And 
while the Casino is taking big risks, you are taking small 
ones. ‘Playing the corpse,’ — it’s the only sure system I 
know. It’s a shame to take the money. You know I hate 
gambling like hell ; but if there’s easy money lying round 
a man’s a damn fool if he don’t pick it up.” 

When Hugh returned late in the afternoon the beauti- 


THE WHEEL 


169 


ful American was still playing, and opposite her, methodi- 
cally putting on his single louis, was the pertinacious Mr. 
Gimp. 

4. 

One day Hugh arrived home for luncheon looking ex- 
ultantly happy. The table was neatly set, and the girl 
was in the little cabinet where she cooked. 

“Hurrah ! Margot. I’ve got something for you.” 

“I can’t come for a minute. I’m cooking two soles I 
bought in the market. I saw you coming, so I put them 
on.” 

“All right. How jolly the place looks. How nice you 
keep everything. We’ll both be sorry to leave it.” 

The girl turned suddenly. Her voice trembled. 

“Leave it! Why?” 

“Hang it, one can’t stay here always. I’m feeling 
stronger than ever I did in my life. I want to get out 
and do things. And you?” 

“I’ve never been so happy as I’ve been here.” 

“I really believe I can say the same. It’s been awfully 
jolly. What a pity all pleasant things must end! We 
both have the future to face. But I’ll take care you have 
your share of happiness. That’s why I’m giving you 
this. . . .” 

“What is it?” 

“Look out. The fish is burning. Finish frying and 
you’ll see.” 

He threw an envelope on her plate, and she went back 
to the little gas-stove. He watched her with pleasure. 
She was so slim and trim in her pink apron, with her hair 
massed in shining coils round her head. She had so much 
of it that she scarcely knew what to do with it. He liked 


170 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


her eyes, too. Th^ Vere a brave, sympathetic blue. Her 
face was English in its open frankness. It was wonderful 
how she had changed. A softness had replaced her sharp 
lines and the hollows had become curves. Her mouth 
had lost its hopeless look, and was now tenderly sweet. 
. . . He almost regretted what he was going to do. Well, 
she would always be his little sister; he would never lose 
sight of her. 

She brought the fish and potatoes, and sat down. As 
she took up the envelope he watched her eagerly. She 
opened it and drew out two crisp bills for a thousand 
francs each. Her face grew pale. 

“What’s this?” she faltered. 

“It’s yours,” he exulted. “I had a splendid morning. 
Got two hundred francs ever so easily. Now that I’ve 
made up the sum you need, you can start for Paris to- 
morrow if you like.” 

She pushed the money away from her. 

“I don’t want it. It’s yours. I can’t take it.” 

“What? Why, I won it for you! It was for you I 
gambled ; for you I risked my capital. It’s given me the 
rarest pleasure doing this for you ; now you mustn’t spoil 
all by refusing.” 

“But I do refuse,” she cried fiercely. “It’s your money. 
How can I take it?” 

“Oh, rot! You’ll make me cross in a minute. Granted 
it was an absurd idea on my part to make the Casino pay 
you back this money, what else was there to do? I 
couldn’t leave you in the hole. I had to do something 
for you. This way appealed to me as being both original 
and amusing. Come now ... if you like, consider it a 
loan, you can pay me back some day. There! It’s the 
solution of all your difficulties. It will establish you, — 


THE WHEEL 


171 


perhaps be the beginning of a modest fortune. Think 
of that bright little bonnet-shop on the Boulevard du 
Montparnasse. How happy you’ll be there. And I’ll 
come and see you. . . .” 

“If I take it as a loan, will you stop gambling?” 

“Oh, come now, that’s absurd. Why should I? It 
really amuses me very much and I’m sure to win. The 
Casino owes me a living. It’s like a bank from which 
I draw a little every day. It would be a shame to stop.” 

“You’re like all the rest. I’ve seen it coming over you 
for some time. You’re getting to think of nothing but 
roulette. You used to go for long walks, spend your time 
in the open air ; now you’re either in the Rooms or work- 
ing over permanencies. In the end you’ll lose everything.” 

“Nonsense. I tell you I understand the game now. I 
can get my living at it. It only needs prudence, patience, 
judgment. A man can start with five francs and win a 
fortune. The great mass of the people are fools. They 
play anyhow. But I tell you it takes brains to play that 
game. There are the laws of chance, the calculation of 
probabilities. . . . Oh, I know I can win. I tell you, I 
can win. . . 

“I’ve heard the others say that,” she answered scorn- 
fully. “Once I thought the same. It’s all an illusion. In 
the end it’s ruin.” 

“All right. You won’t take that money?” 

“No.” 

He was angry. He wanted to shake her. The air was 
charged with hostility. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve 
made me feel like a fool.” Rising he left the house. The 
two little crisp soles remained untasted on their plates. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


C\ 


SHIFTS AND STRESSES 

I N his irritation and perplexity, he went for a long walk 
by the shore. 

“Confound the girl !” he thought. “What right 
has she to be so proud ! Pride is for those who can afford 
it. There she was, sick, desperate, without one sou. I 
saved her from goodness knows what. And now, behold! 
When she ought to be humble, she throws up her head, 
turns independent, refuses my further help. . . .” 

With his stick he switched savagely at a clump of 
geraniums that stained a villa wall. 

“Confounded fool that I was ever to have anything to 
do with her. These sudden quixotic impulses ! They al- 
ways lead to trouble. Damn ! It was none of my business. 
Who could have blamed me if I had let her go her own 
way? And yet . . . that would have worried me enor- 
mously. Her own way! What would it have been? I’d 
hate to think of any harm coming to her. No, I feel I am 
bound to protect her. . . .” 

He sat down and stared at the sea. He watched the 
same wave washing the same rock it had washed for cen- 
turies. Its monotonous persistency soothed his spirit. 

“After all, she’s a jolly, good little sort. She’s made 
me feel a fool, though. She knew all along I was only 
gambling for her sake. She might have let me know she 
wouldn’t take the money. Maybe the whole idea was 
silly, sentimental. ... No, it wasn’t. It was a good 

172 


THE WHEEL 


173 


sporting proposition. Any other chap would have done 
it. Besides, it amused me. I got all the reward I wanted 
in the fun of winning. I made gambling a virtue instead 
of a vice. I played the knight-errant fighting for the fair 
lady with chips for a weapon and a roulette table for the 
field of battle.” 

He felt better. He rose and began to flip flat stones 
over the water. 

“She’s got to take the money. It’s hers. I don’t want 
it. Why won’t she take it? If she had been a princess 
instead of a poor working girl I could have understood. 
I don’t mind if she regards it as a loan. There’s no harm 
in that. An honest loan. Haven’t I been decent and 
honourable? Haven’t I treated her with every respect? 
Haven’t I been like a brother to her? Why can’t she 
accept my aid? Ridiculous, I call it. Girls are funny. 
Hanged if a chap can understand them. . . .” Having 
had enough of stone flipping, he lit a cigarette and re- 
sumed his seat on the rock. 

“Well, what’s to be done? The present state of af- 
fairs can’t go on forever. I rather wish it could, though 
— it’s been so nice having her there. She’s made the place 
so homey, looked after me so well. Don’t think I’ve ever 
been so happy. But there ! It would be dangerous to go 
further. We have each our own way to make in the 
world, and our ways don’t lie together. If she won’t 
take the money I must do something else to help her. I 
have to go on helping her. Poor kid ! She’s had a devil 
of a time up to now. I’m sorry if I have hurt her feel- 
ings. . . . I’ll go home and make it up.” 

But instead of going home he found himself drawn ir- 
resistibly to that great “centre of depravity” (as Mr. 
Gimp called it), the Casino. He was leaning moodily 


174 * 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


against one of the columns of the atrium when the doors 
leading to the Opera House belched forth a weird crowd 
of Monegasques. 

The opera is one of Monte Carlo’s delusions, for though 
it is widely advertised as one of the attractions of the 
place, a large proportion of the seats are given away to 
the natives, those descendants of Saeacen pirates who now 
plunder the visitor by modern methods. It is as if the 
company that exploits the Principality, having planted the 
Casino in their midst and forbidden them to enter the 
gambling rooms, was trying to make up to them in other 
ways. The same seats are filled night after night by 
swarthy folk, barbarously bedecked in flaunting finery. 
The laundress or lodging-house keeper of the Condamine 
smirks across the stalls at the butcher or the baker of the 
upper town, who, in turn, bows deeply to the bureaucrat 
who lives on the Rock, and is wondering if his dress shirt 
will last the season without another washing. 

As Hugh watched the crowd he heard a voice suddenly 
address him: 

“You’re not going into that monkey-show, are you?” 

Looking round he saw Mrs. Belmire seated near him, 
holding an unlighted cigarette. She wore a gorgeous 
gown of egg-yolk yellow and pea-pod green. Under a 
modified Gainsborough hat, her mahogany-tinted hair 
rippled over her shell-pink ears. 

“Give me a light, please! I’m dying for a smoke. Just 
been in the Rooms and lost fifty louis. Isn’t it silly of me? 
I’ve seen you playing quite a lot lately. Have you been 
lucky?” 

Hugh was discreet. “No, not very. I play a small 
game. Just for chicken feed.” 

“Well, as long as you don’t lose, you’re lucky enough. 


THE WHEEL 175 

I say, you can take me for tea to the Cafe de Paris, if 
you like.” 

Hugh was flattered. They found a place in the res- 
taurant from which they could watch the dancing. Mrs. 
Belmire looked rather stunning, and he was proud of be- 
ing her escort. They listened to the confident music, ate 
chocolate cake and drank insipid tea. 

“I bought two new hats to-day,” said Mrs. Belmire. 
“They cost a lot of money. I’m sure when I get them 
home I’ll hate them. I always like to have a pal with 
me, when I chose a new hat. I wish you’d been with me to 
help me choose.” 

Hugh expressed a polite regret, with an uneasy feeling 
that his privilege in such an event might not be confined 
to choosing. Mrs. Belmire went on to talk about herself 
with an engaging frankness and almost childlike egoism. 
She elaborately displayed the confidence that is supposed 
to engender confidence; but Hugh was cautious. 

“I suppose you’re going to the automobile show to- 
morrow,” she said. “You’re crazy about cars, aren’t 
you? I am. When my husband was alive, I used to drive 
our car myself. I drive a good deal here. My men friends 
are very nice to me, and take me for such jolly spins. 
You must take me some afternoon. By the way, where do 
you hang out now?” 

“I’m living in the Condamine,” said Hugh vaguely. 

“Are you? You’re lucky. I have had to give up my 
apartment. Lost so much playing at the club that I had 
to draw in my horns. I’m now staying at an Italian 
pension on the sea front, — Pizzicato’s. It’s very nice. The 
cooking’s Italian. To-day we had eels for lunch ; I didn’t 
know they were eels till I had finished, or else I don’t be- 
lieve I should have enjoyed them so much. You must 


176 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


lunch with me some day. I had General Jenkinson yes- 
terday. You don’t know him, do you?” 

“No, I don’t think I do,” said Hugh with a doubtful 
inflection. 

“Delightful man. Oh, I say, my friend who looks so 
like you, Paul Vulning, is on his way here. You’ll prob- 
ably meet him.” 

All the time she talked — and it was principally of her- 
self — Hugh could see that she was trying to find out 
more about him. For his part it pleased him to baffle her. 
Her manner was breezy, her voice ringing; he liked her, 
and judging by the smiling regard in her nut-brown 
eyes she liked him. It was nearly seven o’clock when she 
said : “There now, you’ve been awfully decent to me. Per- 
haps, you wouldn’t mind driving me to my hotel.” 

Hugh called a voiture and accompanied her to the 
Pension Pizzicato. At the door she held his hand. 

“I say, if you aren’t very comfortable where you’re 
staying, why not come here? I wish you would. There’s 
such a nice room next mine, and not too dear. Do say 
you’ll take it.” 

Hugh hesitated. “I’ll think over it.” 

“Yes, do. And I say, — won’t you lunch with me to- 
morrow?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got a friend coming to see 
me.” 

“Bring your friend, too. Tell him you know a very 
jolly Englishwoman you would like him to meet.” 

“I’ll see. I’ll ask my friend.” 

She shook his hand warmly. So as not to look cheap 
he took the voiture back. It cost him twenty francs, 
which with the thirty francs for tea made fifty. 


THE WHEEL 


177 


“A charming woman,” he thought, “but expensive, — 
damned expensive. I mustn’t cultivate her.” 


2 . 

He had dinner at Quinto’s Restaurant. He knew that 
Margot would be waiting for him at home, but his meeting 
with Mrs. Belmire had made him a little arrogant. He 
resolved to give the girl a lesson. 

“Let her worry,” he said to himself; “it will do her 
good.” 

After dinner he had intended to take a walk, but the 
Casino drew him like a magnet. Good old Casino! So 
friendly, so inviting, so generous. Down the long, pansy- 
patterned sward of the garden, between the proud palms 
he could see its portico, goldenly aglow. The big yellow 
hotel-bus from Cap D’Ail dashed up to the door, small 
figures in evening dress got out and mounted the seven 
carpeted steps. He was conscious suddenly that he, too, 
wanted to play. Yes, more than anything in the world 
he wanted to gamble. 

More brilliant than ever seemed the “Hall of Light.” 
Nearly all the men were in evening dress. Perhaps it was 
the influence of Mrs. Belmire, but for the first time Hugh 
felt out of place in his serge suit. 

“I must get a dinner jacket,” he thought, “and all that 
goes with it.” Then came a second thought: “Why not 
make the bank buy me one? If I can win a thousand 
francs ! By Gad ! I’ll try it.” 

He had his capital, two thousand francs, in his pocket. 
He felt strangely elated. Perhaps it was the flush of his 
recent success, perhaps the flask of Chianti he had taken 
with his dinner. He changed a note of five hundred francs 


178 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


into the red counters that represent louis, and began to 
play a game between two tables. He bet that one table 
would not repeat the colour that had just come up on 
the other. When he lost he made a progression. It was 
lively and exciting, and after playing an hour he found 
his twenty-five louis had increased by ten. 

Two hundred francs for his dress suit in sixty minutes, 
— that wasn’t bad. Now with his winnings he could afford 
to be a little reckless ; so as the impair at one table had 
come up seven times running, he played pair with a hun- 
dred francs, — and lost. Cheerfully he put another hun- 
dred on pair for the next spin : he lost. Too bad ! All his 
winnings gone. He felt nettled. He would get them back 
quickly enough. He would go on backing pair for the 
break in the run. He put on a hundred : impair. He 
doubled : again impair. He martingaled to four hundred : 
alas ! still impair. 

His feeling of resentment had now given w T ay to one 
of alarm. He had lost seven hundred. Then just as the 
ball was thrown, moved by a sudden desperate impulse, 
he tossed the rest of his capital, thirteen hundred francs, 
on the table. There ... if he won, he would gain six 
hundred francs; if he lost, he would have — the emotion. 
He felt his heart beating thickly. He saw a woman close 
by turn and look at him curiously. He contrived a care- 
less smile. Then, inexorable as fate, he heard the colourless 
voice of the croupier: Thirteen . Impair again; he had 
lost. 

He stood looking stupidly at his little pile of money, 
his no longer. As if to torment him the croupier raked 
it in with what seemed an unnecessary show of indiffer- 
ence. It had happened all so quickly. He was stunned, 
sick. He looked round, but there was no Mr. Gimp to 


THE WHEEL 


179 


save him this time. He felt at that moment he would 
have traded his soul for money to go on. A run of four- 
teen on impair, — it was incredible. 

The woman who had glanced at him was a little old 
Jewess known as the “Swallow.” She was dressed in rusty 
fragments of black crepe, held together by a host of 
safety pins. She had a bit of pale blue silk wound in a 
weird fashion about her throat, and another bit of the 
same in her musty black bonnet. On her hands she had 
black lace mittens over rusty black gloves, from the fingers 
of which her nails emerged. Her face, covered with a 
white veil and a thick coating of bluish-white powder, was 
precisely like the waxen face of a corpse. 

As his stake was swept away, Hugh saw this ghoulish 
creature begin to play on the pair and win time after time. 
She was taking advantage of his bad luck. Pair came 
six times running. He went into the refreshment room 
and ordered a brandy and soda. 

While he was drinking it, the old Jewess waddled in. 
The black tail of her dress, which gave her her name, wig- 
gled after her. She ordered coffee, then fumbling in a 
mildewed looking bag, took from it the black stump of a 
cigar and lit it carefully. She sat puffing her cigar, and 
watching Hugh, the black eyes in her corpse-like face 
snapping with pure malice. He gulped down the rest of 
his brandy and went out quickly. He hated the place, 
loathed it. 

As he descended the long, sloping road to the Conda- 
mine, the lights seemed to glitter in cruel mockery. The 
harbour lamps turned to green and red serpents wriggling 
on the varnished blackness of the water; the lamps of the 
quay thrust downward silver octopus-arms. Everything 
was reptilian, abhorrent. He was ruined. 


180 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Softly he crept up to the familiar room. The lamp 
was turned low and a simple supper set for him. In 
every corner he could see some evidence of Margot’s neat- 
ness and care. She was sleeping; he heard her steady 
breathing from behind the curtain. For the first time 
he pulled it aside a little, and peered in. Her hair was a 
bright disorder on the pillow. She had been crying a 
good deal for her eyes were red and swollen. He would 
have liked to waken her, to beg her forgiveness. As he 
turned away he saw on the table where he had left it, the 
envelope containing the two thousand francs. 

The sight hardened him. She was still too proud to 
take it. He, too, could be proud. If it came to a con- 
test of wills, he would prove himself the stronger. He 
sat down, sullen, bitter, brooding. Then temptation came 
to him. He looked at the money lying in the envelope. 
It was hers, absolutely hers but . . . why not borrow it, 
play with it, win back what he had lost? He felt sure he 
could win this time, — sure. 

Bah ! what a demoralizing business gambling was t Here 
he was throwing all his pride to the winds, wanting to 
sneak away with this money that was to establish her in 
business, to risk it on the tables. How ashamed he would 
be if she knew ! But she need not know. He could return 
it in an hour’s time. After all, in a sense, was it not his? 
Had he not a right to borrow it? He took it up, then 
laid it down again. 

“No, damn it ! It’s not playing the game.” 

Then after another spell of morose musing, his hand 
went out to it once more. 

“Well, there’s no use leaving it there. I might as well 
put it in my pocket.” 

He did so, and then continued to sit moodily staring at 


THE WHEEL 


181 


the lamp. He began to fidget restlessly. Finally he said : 

“I don’t feel a bit sleepy. I’ll just go back to the 
Casino and watch awhile.” 

Already, having money in his pocket, he began to feel 
better. As he climbed the long hill, he knew quite well 
what he was going to do. Even as he entered the “Hall 
of Light” he was thinking: 

“The pair played me a scurvy trick to-night. It owes 
me a good turn now.” 

Going to the same table he laid a thousand francs on 
pair. He lost. . . . He was becoming callous. These 
flimsy bits of paper no longer represented real money. 
He threw the second of them on pair. If he lost, what 
matter! He would then be finished, purged clean, cured 
of gambling forever. A good job too. Let him lose. 
. . . He won. He saw them lay a thousand franc 
counter beside his bill. He looked at the two contemptu- 
ously. With a nod to the croupier he left them there for 
the next spin. He even strolled away a little and watched 
the play at the neighbouring table. A curious and thrill- 
ing sensation this, — to know that your fate is being de- 
cided behind your back. Looking round, as if casually, 
he saw that the ball had dropped and that they were not 
raking in his money. Then he saw them add to it two 
other counters of a thousand each. With a hand that 
trembled a little he took up four thousand francs and 
went home. 

The lights were joyous again, the place adorable. So 
he thought, as he hurried to their quiet room. Softly he 
replaced the two thousand francs in the envelope. He 
listened again to her breathing. Once more he peeped 
through the curtain. Her face was like that of a tired, 
fevered child. He felt a curious surge of affection for 


182 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


her, a warmth that was nigh to tenderness. With a 
happy sense of her nearness, he sought his own bed and 
immediately fell asleep. 


3 . 

On rising next morning, he found she had set the table 
for breakfast, but the envelope was gone. 

“I’m going away,” she told him. “I’ll do anything you 
ask. I don’t want to be a bother to you.” 

“Don’t think I want to be rid of you. Still you must 
see that, all things considered, it will really be for the 
best.” 

She was pale, but seemed cheerful and resigned. All 
day she went about making her preparations for de- 
parture. 

“I’ll take the train for Paris to-morrow,” she an- 
nounced. 

He was unprepared for the suddenness of her going. 

“Oh, not to-morrow,” he said ; “wait till the day after. 
We’ll spend to-morrow together, go picnicking.” 

She agreed and they took the train next morning 
to La Turbie. They made a fire among the rocks and ate 
a cold pate, cheese and fruit, as happy as two children. 
Hugh went to get some water to make tea. When he 
returned, he found the girl cowering at the foot of a big 
rock. She had slipped and fallen, while gathering flowers. 
The distance was about ten feet. She was all right, she 
assured him, excepting her foot which hurt her badly. 
She could not walk, so he had to lift her and carry her to 
the road. He was greatly distressed. At the village he 
got a voiture and they returned slowly to Monte Carlo. 

He summoned a doctor who said that she had sprained 


THE WHEEL 183 

her ankle badly and must rest for a week or two without 
putting her foot to the ground. 

“That’s very awkward,” she told the doctor. “I in- 
tended going to Paris to-morrow.” 

“Impossible, madame,” he said; Hugh also echoed the 
word, “Impossible.” She submitted to this decision with 
a resignation that was almost too cheerful. Hugh was 
sympathetic gentleness itself. He did the marketing with 
the joyousness of a boy, and even attempted to cook under 
her direction. Whenever he found himself free, he has- 
tened to the Casino to gamble ; roulette was rapidly becom- 
ing an obsession with him. 

Propped with pillows in the big wicker arm-chair he had 
bought her, Margot would sit and watch him. How his 
teeth gleamed when he laughed. She loved the look of him, 
tall, slim, with his fair hair brushed smoothly back, his 
fine sensitive face, his eloquent dark eyes. He made a 
graceful picture even when swathed in a white apron and 
frying eggs. 

“He is so good, so kind, so patient,” she sighed. “My 
conscience hurts me. Oh, if he only knew I slipped from 
that rock on purpose.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


THE GAMBLER’S PROGRESS 

1 . 

I N two weeks Margot was able to limp about ; and, as 
nothing more was said about her departure, she 
quietly reassumed her household duties. Hugh was 
happy. He was free to gamble. Morning, afternoon and 
evening he was at the Casino. He invented fantastic sys- 
tems and enthusiastically tried them out, or like a hawk 
hovered over a table watching for a likely chance. A 
picker-up of unconsidered trifles, he called himself. He 
was patient, prudent, intelligent. He believed in the cal- 
culation of chances; and, best of all, he had an intuition 
that was reasonably reliable. He loved the game, but 
most of all he loved to turn out his pockets in the morn- 
ing, and to hand Margot a fistful of money with the re- 
mark : “There ! that’s for the house. By Gad ! it’s a 
great thing to live on the fat of the land at the cost of 
the Casino.” 

One day while doing her marketing the girl was stopped 
by a tall dark man. She stared a moment. She could 
scarcely believe her eyes : Florent Gamier. How changed ! 
He was stout, prosperous-looking, even pompous. He 
had a fancy waistcoat, with a heavy gold chain, a broad- 
brimmed Borsolino, and a diamond pin sparkling in a 
rather loud tie. Yes, he was a big, handsome, important- 
looking man. 


184 


THE WHEEL 


185 


“Ha! ha! You are surprised, my little Margot,” he 
laughed. “I’m altered, am I not? When you saw me last, 
I was the lean Parisian workman. You remember I was 
thrown into prison. That rascal Popol, — he croaked in 
Laboisiniere. Black small-pox. Good job! I’d have 
killed him when I got out. Well, soon after that, my uncle, 
a big contractor in Lyons, died leaving me everything. 
I’m a rich man now.” 

“Then you’re not a socialist any more?” 

“ Bon sang ! No! How can I be? I’m a patron . 
Socialists don’t believe in patrons. No one remains a 
socialist after he has acquired a little property. It 
changes one’s ideas entirely. Socialism is for those who 
have nothing and don’t see any prospect of having any- 
thing, except by grabbing from those who have. We’re 
all on the grab, the Socialist as much as every one else. 
Oh, I know them. The leaders are exploiters of the prole- 
tariat. Socialism is only a stepping stone to political 
power.” 

They were in the market place, close by the rock of 
Monaco. Margot had a filet of vegetables on her arm, 
a shawl on her head. As he talked Florent gesticulated, 
a big diamond ring flashing on his brown hand. 

“Yes,” he went on, “socialism is ba d on a wrong con- 
ception of human nature. It believes that if you scratch 
the man, you find the saint ; whereas what you really find 
is the savage. Human nature is selfish and nothing will 
ever change it. Socialism believes in the unselfishness of 
human nature. That’s its fundamental error. Then 
again, it’s contrary to justice. It believes in paying all 
workers equally. The good worker is to receive the same 
wage as the poor. That is unjust. Yet the moment you 
begin paying one man more than another you institute 


186 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


capitalism. . . . But there ! Come, let us sit at that 
cafe under the arches and talk of yourself. What are 
you doing? Not married, I hope.” 

“No, I’m housekeeper to an English gentleman.” 

“Ah! I’m not married either. Not for want of chances 
though. Somehow there’s no one I fancy. Listen, Mar- 
got, — let’s go to Nice this afternoon, if you can get away 
from your place. Say it’s your cousin. Do come. We’ll 
have a good time.” 

After supper that night as Hugh sat pouring over his 
permanencies, the girl looked up from her sewing. 

“You will be surprised to hear I had an offer of 
marriage this afternoon.” 

He gazed at her abstractedly. “No, I’m not surprised. 
You’re really awfully sweet, you know. I expect you’ve 
had many. Well, I hope he’s a fine chap.” 

“Yes, he is. He has a big business and makes lots of 
money.” 

“Good. That’s the great thing, — money! You know, 
I think this system I’m working on will make lots of 
money. Already it’s made a fortune on paper. Well, 
when’s it coming off?” 

“What?” 

“The marriage, of course.” 

“Oh, I’ve not accepted him. I don’t want to marry. 
I’m too happy as I am.” 

“What! Refuse such a good offer! Are you crazy?” 

“Maybe. You see I’m foolish enough to think that one 
should love the man one marries, and I don’t love this 
one.” 

“I accept the rebuke. Well, my dear girl, don’t make 
any mistake. At the same time I’d be sorry to lose you 
just yet. We seem to rub along so nicely together.” 


THE WHEEL 


187 


“Do we? Then you don’t want me to marry?” 

“Why, certainly. If you find the right man. My dear 
child, your happiness will always be my first considera- 
tion.” 

“Do you still want me to go back to Paris ?” 

“Please yourself about that. I must admit I’m begin- 
ning to get so used to you I’d miss you awfully.” 

With that he took his hat and went off to the Casino. 
She was used to his brusque ways, but she looked after him 
rather anxiously. He seemed to think of nothing now but 
his hateful roulette. At meal-time he ate abstractedly and 
over his cigarette he stared thoughtfully at columns of 
figures. He took little notice of her. She was jealous; 
jealous of a game of chance, jealous of the wheel. 

2 . 

He was, indeed, becoming more and more engrossed. 
He spent hours talking to that profound student of rou- 
lette, Galloway MacTaggart. One evening he told the big 
spectacled Scotchman of the time he had so nearly come 
a cropper. 

“Ah! ma lad,” said MacTaggart, “if it’s the simple 
chances ye want tae play, don’t play the pair and the im- 
pair. They’re the maist treacherous o’ the three. The 
black and red are the maist popular. The colour catches 
folk’s fancy. But for steady, logical playin’, play the 
passe and the manque. There’s no many do it, but Ah’ve 
tested it oot, an’ it’s the maist conseestent o’ the three. 
I can’t tell ye why, but there ye are.” 

Mr. Gimp put him onto another twist in the game. 
“When you see a big bunch of money staked on one of the 
simple chances, put a louis on the opposite one. You’ll 


188 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


have a win three times out of five. It stands to reason. 
You’re playing with the bank instead of against it. And 
you know the bank’s winning a million a week.” 

Learning a little here, and a little there, Hugh became 
more and more identified with that crafty band that con- 
trives to make a living out of the Casino. Their num- 
bers are few but their tenacity undeniable. Year after 
year these lean, neat men and fat, frowsy women man- 
age with a few hundred francs of capital to scratch up 
the daily louis or so necessary to provide them with food, 
shelter, and clothing. They are known as the Limpits, 
because they hang on. Their faces are anxious until they 
have made what they call “the material”; then they re- 
lax pleasantly. 

He was a member of the inner circle, one of those who 
meet at the Casino as at a club, discussing the gossip of 
the moment, the latest plunger, the latest decave , the 
latest suicide. Jarvis Tope was the recognized president 
of the Casino Gossip Circle. He seemed to know every- 
thing and everybody. 

“You remember,” he said one day, “that Italian noble- 
man, the Count Viviano, old, dried-up, proud-looking fish ; 
said to have gambled away lands, castles, fortunes over 
these tables? Well, he was found last week in a bare 
room in Beausoleil ; nothing in it at all, nothing. He was 
lying stark naked on the floor, a perfect skeleton. Liter- 
ally starved to death. . . . Ahl there’s the Princess. I 
see she has pawned her set of sables. Poor thing! Ex- 
cuse me, I must go and inquire after her health. 

He toddled after a weird looking Russian woman who 
was said to have had all her family massacred by the 
Bolshevics. 

Hugh became more and more conscious of a growing air 


THE WHEEL 


189 


of suspicion in the Rooms. The inspectors seemed to be 
keeping an unusually close watch scrutinizing all who 
played with unwonted keenness. There was an anxious 
expression on the faces of the directors who emerged 
from the mirror doors that open by hidden springs. And 
one day in a circular window high over the “Hall of 
Lights,” Hugh saw a peering face; that of Krantz, the 
great Krantz, and he, too, looked anxious. 

It was Mr. Gimp who enlightened him. Mr. Gimp took 
from his pocket a reddish counter with “20” marked on 
it in silvery letters. 

“What’s that? Tell me?” he asked, handing it to 
Hugh. 

“Why, it’s a chip for a louis, — Casino money.” 

“Yes, it’s a chip for a louis, but is it Casino money? — 
that’s the question — I don’t know. You don’t know. 
They don’t know. Nobody knows.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that it may be Casino money, or it may be an 
exact imitation. When I say exact I mean so perfect that 
not even an expert with a magnifying glass can tell 
the difference. You couldn’t even call it a counterfeit, 
for it may be a duplication of Casino money. Don’t you 
see what they’re up against? Since the war they can’t 
play with silver and gold. They’ve got to issue these 
damn things and any crook can make them. Once they’re 
in circulation who’s going to tell them from the genuine 
ones?” 

“But can they do nothing to check it?” 

“What can they do? If it was a case of the big blue 
hundred franc chips they might keep some sort of tabs on 
them. They are all numbered and the numbers only run 
up to ten thousand. But when you come to the louis 


190 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


counters there must be about a million of them and they 
have no distinctive mark of any kind. It’s them that 
make the Casino people such an easy mark. You see 
notices all over the place imploring you to cash in before 
you leave the building, but half of the players don’t do it. 
They take the chips away in their pockets. They are 
used around the town like cash ; they are accepted as pay- 
ment for hotel bills. It’s impossible to keep track of them. 
Why, they say there are over a hundred thousand francs 
worth of false counters in circulation right now. And 
the number’s increasing every day. There’s a gang hard 
at work this very minute shooting them out. I tell you, 
son, it’s one of the slickest gangs that ever hit this dump. 
No one knows who they are. I may be one of them. You 
may be one of them.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Oh, I’m speaking just to demonstrate my point. No 
one knows anything about any one else in this place. For 
all I know you may be in the pay of the police, or for all 
you know I may be. Between friends, though, I’m neither 
a crook nor a detective, but just a common or garden 
boob — like yourself.” 

“They must be worried, the outfit upstairs?” 

“Yes, I guess they’re lying awake nights, some of ’em. 
For don’t you see, a man can play with the counterfeit 
chips, and if he loses, no matter. But if he wins they pay 
him real chips and he is in right. He goes on calmly play- 
ing with the bank’s own money. Oh, it’s a cinch! And 
the point of the joke is that there is no law against it. 
You’re not counterfeiting money, you’re counterfeiting 
counters. And for gambling purposes, too. Why, if 
they found you out, I don’t believe they could legally do 
anything to you. Anyway they would never bring 


THE WHEEL 


191 


such a case into court. They ain’t seeking publicity of 
that kind. Nop, the worst they could do would be to fire 
you over the frontier and take care you never came back. 
I tell you I rather admire the bunch that are putting this 
thing over. If I was broke and desperate, I’d do the 
same.” 

“And what do you suppose the Casino crowd are doing 
about it?” 

“Everything the}" can. Taking away the cards of every 
one they suspect. Watching us all. Krantz is a cute one. 
It’s only a question of time before he gets on. . . . By 
Christopher! pipe that man coming out of the Rooms. 
That man’s your double ; that’s the Honourable Paul Vul- 
ning” 


CHAPTER SIX 


A SLAVE OF THE WHEEL 

1 . 

L OOKING in the direction in which Mr., Gimp’s 
finger pointed Hugh saw a tall, slim man saunter- 
ing across the hall. He had fair hair, brushed 
smoothly back, and features of the conventional English 
regularity. 

“He’s like you and yet he ain’t,” commented Mr. Gimp. 
“You’re fresh and he’s a bit used up. He’s just what 
you’d be like in ten years’ time if you went the pace some- 
thing fierce. A gay dog ! He’s got a villa up on the hill. 
They say there are strange goings on at that same villa. 
He’s got a swell car, too. He owes all over the place, 
but he always seems to have heaps of cash to spend. 
That’s Mrs. Emslie speaking to him. A terrible woman, 
she is. I expect she’s trying to borrow from him. She’d 
do anything for money, that woman. She’s getting so 
desperate.” 

“Pity for the daughter!” 

“Yep, poor kid. Say, I saw her on the terrace early 
this morning, all alone in the corner beside the baths. So 
I went up and I says: ‘Well, Honey, how goes it?’ She 
turned round, and blamed if she wasn’t crying. ‘Couldn’t 
be worse,’ she says. ‘We’ve lost everything. Mother 
won’t stop. She’s borrowing from all sorts of horrid peo- 
ple. I think she’s mad. I don’t know what’s going to 
become of us.’ ” 


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“What will become of them?” 

To this Mr. Gimp replied only by an eloquent shrug of 
his shoulders. 

Hugh watched Paul Vulning with a curious fascination. 
As Vulning stared superciliously at the crowd Mrs. Emslie 
talked to him feverishly, trying to hold his attention. 
Then they sauntered away together. 

“You see that big jolly man,” Mr. Gimp observed, 
“the one with the black skull-cap. Well, that’s the slickest 
player ever hit this skin-game joint. That man never 
loses. They call him ‘Cheero,’ because every time the 
zero comes up he calls out: ‘Cheero.’ That man’s always 
smiling. He goes about his business quietly, but believe 
me, he’s just salting away the dough. He claims he can 
hypnotize the croupiers and make them throw where he 
wants.” 

“What rot!” 

“No more rot than lots of other systems. . . . See that 
tall woman in grey just crossing the hall. Nobody knows 
who she is, and what’s more, nobody’s ever seen her face. 
She always wears that thick veil. They call her Number 
One , because she goes from table to table, always playing 
on the number one. At night she goes off to Nice in a 
covered car. Some say she’s an Indian Princess, some say 
it’s cancer. Any way, nobody knows what’s behind that 
veil. She’s one of the Casino’s mysteries.” 

“What queer characters!” 

“Queer! Why, we all get queer if we stay here long 
enough. I’m queer. You’ll get queer. MacTaggart’s 
getting queerer every day. Yep, it’s a queer place. . . . 
Say, if I was a writing man I could make a dozen books 
out of it. There’s a mine of material here. It’s fantastic ; 


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it ain’t real. It’s a stage show. Yes siree, it’s the queer- 
est place on earth.” 

They sauntered over to the “Hall of Gloom,” and sat 
on a padded bench near the door of the private rooms. 
As they watched the stream of people coming and going, 
Hugh noticed two ladies, one matronly, the other old and 
decrepit. They were dressed alike, with big roses in their 
hats and feather boas. 

“Mother and daughter,” said Mr. Gimp. “They’re 
known as the two Roses. The mother’s over eighty, but 
she simply cannot stay away from the Rooms. She sits 
at the table, her face level with the cloth, her hands clutch- 
ing a few counters. Sometimes she has fits and has to be 
carried out. She should be on her knees in some church 
instead of goggling and gasping over that bloody board. 
. . . There was another old lady, nice, serene, gentle, fat, 
who used to be known as ‘Queen Victoria,’ because she 
resembled the late Queen. She held a kind of levee every 
day in the Rooms. But her friends took her home to 
England, and they say she nearly died of lonesomeness 
there. There’s lots like that, old folks tottering on the 
edge of the tomb. They’d die in the Rooms if you’d let 
em. . . . Just look at that table over there. There’s 
a man that’s blind and beside him a woman that’s par- 
alyzed. I tell you, folks come here that have to be car- 
ried to the table. They’re half dead.” 

“Do many die in the Rooms?” 

“Suicide? Not on your life. It’s considered bad form. 
As the English say: ‘It’s a thing that’s simply not done. 
. . By God! if I wanted to do it, I’d give ’em a jar. 
I’d go to that centre table and lean well over the wheel; 
then I’d start pumping lead into my bean. I’d cover 
that table with gore. A bucket of blood. I’d spatter 


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195 


my brains over the damned croupiers. I can see the Chef 
de Partie wiping them out of the corner of his eye. . . ” 

“What a ghastly idea ! I hope you’re not seriously 
thinking of such a thing.” 

Mr. Gimp cackled with laughter. “You don’t know 
me, son. I’m not that sort. Still I’ve got a kind of idea 
in my old head I’ll make a sensational exit. I have a 
notion that when I go, I’ll go with a bang. I don’t just 
know how, but there it is. . . 


2 . 

In the week that followed Hugh saw a good deal of 
Paul Yulning. The latter liked to swing round the 
“Cheese” in his long low carmine-coloured car. He leaned 
back, driving with studied nonchalance. On one occasion, 
he narrowly shaved Hugh and Mr. MacTaggart. The big 
Scotchman shook a wrathful fist after him. 

“The dawmed swanker! Ye’d think he wis rinnin’ the 
place. Ah’ll gie him a puck on the gub yin o’ thae days 
that’ll teach him tae look doon his neb at folk better than 
himsel’. I’ve got ma eye on him. I’ve seen him aboot a 
lot wi’ Mrs. Emslie lately. Ye can tak’ me word for it 
he’s up tae nae guid.” 

And sure enough the very next day Hugh saw Mrs. 
Emslie and her daughter in the carmine car. Vulning 
had a squint-eyed chauffeur who sat with him as he drove. 
The mother and girl were behind. On their return he 
saw them again; but this time, June Emslie was in front 
with the chauffeur, while Yulning was behind with the 
mother. 

That evening, he met the two women once more, — this 
time on the Avenue des Fleurs. As he passed them in the 


196 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


darkness, he heard the mother’s voice tense with anger. 
He never again saw the daughter waiting in the atrium, 
but Mrs. Emslie, her white cheeks painted, her eyes burn- 
ing, gambled more desperately than ever. 

Hugh himself was trying a new system which was be- 
having rather decently. He put two louis on the manque 
and a louis on one of the transversals of the passe. If it 
came manque he won a louis ; if he struck the transversal 
he won seven louis. He did not play until certain indica- 
tions told him he had the odds in his favour. He had to a 
curious degree that sense of probability which is so valua- 
ble to the player of roulette. Occasionally he had a 
hard tussle with the bank, but on the whole he averaged 
a hundred francs a day. In addition to this he made two 
louis for the running of the house. He was greatly pleased 
and used to say to Margot: 

“Isn’t it jolly to think that every mouthful we eat, we 
make the Casino pay for? Doesn’t it make the food taste 
ever so much sweeter?” 

“That’s not much of a compliment to my cooking.” 

“You’re cooking’s delicious, my child. It’s the things 
you don’t cook. By the way I made a couple of louis 
extra to-day, so here’s something for you. You can re- 
gard it as a present from the Societe” 

The gift was a pair of suede gloves. It was a joke of 
which he never tired, that of giving her a present and 
saying: “With the compliments of the Casino.” 

He had come to love their big bright room. It was a 
refuge, a retreat from the fever and fret of the tables. 
Here was reality, the simple things that mattered ; there, 
a false splendour, a theatrical pretentiousness. Margot 
considered his growing fondness for home a victory for 
her, and increased her efforts to make it attractive. She 


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bought many little furnishings, so that the living part 
became extremely comfortable. But behind the big green 
curtain their sleeping arrangements remained unchanged. 
The small grey curtain divided his part from hers. This 
curtain seemed to him to have a definite significance. It 
was the symbol of his honour. It was the frailest of bar- 
riers, yet by the expression of his will it had become more 
solid than a sheet of steel. It seemed curious at night 
to think that she was so close. He often heard her breath- 
ing. Perhaps she was his for the taking. But then she 
trusted him. He would open his eyes and look at the 
grey curtain with a certain grim exultation. Good job 
it was grey. Maybe if it had been orange or crimson, 
or some colour that appealed to the senses, he might have 
been' tempted to tear it aside. . . . But grey had a sober- 
ing effect. 

Not that he would have yielded to temptation. He 
was not that sort, he told himself. If any such intention 
had ventured into his mind, he would have stamped on it 
as he would on a snake. He had pride and strength. He 
was clean-minded, cool-blooded. He was equal to the 
situation he had created. Yet it was oddly pleasant to 
have her so close to him. What did she think? he some- 
times wondered. She, too, accepted the situation and 
played the game as honourably as he. They were like 
brother and sister. 

He had to admit that every day she was growing more 
attractive. As if to please him she had taken to dressing 
her hair in the English fashion ; parting it over the fore- 
head, and massing it in a thick pleat at the nape of her 
neck. The slight hollowing of her cheeks and the sweet- 
ness of her mouth reminded him of Rossetti’s women. She 
did not have much colouring ; her skin was like ivory, and 


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THE POISONED PARADISE 


the faint pink of her cheeks that of a sea shell. He made 
a good many sketches of her; and told himself that some 
day he would paint her portrait. 

But, for the time being, the Goddess Roulette claimed 
him as her own. She brooked no rival. There in the 
gaiety and the golden sunshine, he thought roulette, 
dreamed roulette, lived roulette. He was a worshipper 
among a host of worshippers, their temple the Casino; 
and few worshippers at a sacred shrine are so devoted. 

One night he had a dream. 

The vast hollow of the shy seemed to he the 
howl of a mighty wheel. The hall rolled with 
the long menace of thunder and shot into its slot 
like a lightning stah. Beneath the shadow of this sinister 
wheel , the air was grey with fluttering hank notes , the 
earth was like an ant-heap of fevered , frenzied men and 
women. As they leaped at the money it nearly always 
evaded them. With each leap they grew more feeble. 
Then he noticed that the ground beneath them was a 
quagmire, into which they were sinking. Their struggles 
plunged them deeper and deeper into the ooze, until they 
disappeared from sight . But no sooner had they gone 
than others took their place. They, too, leaped and 
clutched at the elusive fortune, only to sink in turn. And 
over them the great shadowy wheel rumbled and flashed, 
taking the place of God and the stars. ... It was all so 
vivid that he awoke shuddering and crying aloud: “The 
wheel ! The wheel !” 

But no dream could damp his ardour, nor cloud his 
happiness. He was superbly happy. He told himself it 
was because of the beauty and charm of the place. Monte 
Carlo in its setting of primitive grandeur, glutted with 


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199 


luxury, and gorged with light; man’s insolent triumph 
over nature; a cocotte of price poised amid the eternal 
verities of mountain and sea. He adored it. Its keynote 
was joy. Life glittered and sang. Every day was a fete 
day. He loved the feeling that he was part of it, one of 
its gay pleasure-seekers. That was the side of it he chose 
to see. What if there was another, a sinister one ! As 
far as he was concerned it did not exist. Ruin, suicide, 
misery, all these were lies of blackmailing journalists. 
The gambling was a harmless diversion indulged in by 
people who lost what they could afford to lose. Those 
who fell were only the weak who would have gone to the 
wall in some other way. No, it was the most adorable 
place on earth. 

One evening as he climbed the long hill to the Casino, 
his thoughts were of the pleasantest. The night was rich 
with velvet darkness. A sense of rain lurked in the crys- 
tal purity of the air, a soft reluctant rain that might 
come before morning. On the concrete blocks that pro- 
tect the harbour the little lights of fishermen made swirls 
of gold, and their nets moved round and round, scooping 
up the fish attracted by the glow. The water of the 
harbour was as black as patent leather, and the quay 
lamps shot down long bright stems that sprouted into 
silver foliage. The few lights on the dark heights of 
Monaco seemed only to accentuate its mystery. 

He stood for a while where the white bust of Berloitz 
springs on a shaft of marble from a patch of purple 
pansies. He looked past the fiery frontages of the vast 
hotels, to where, above them all, the cornice of the Riviera 
Palace appeared like an agraffe of pearls. He inhaled 
deeply the breath of the sea. How well he felt! Never 


200 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


since the year before the war, when he played cricket and 
football, had he felt so fit. He was a man again, ready 
to tackle the job of life. 

As he walked past the band-stand the Casino windows 
made panels of orange against the biscuit-coloured stone. 
No, he would not play again that night. One must not 
abuse one’s luck. He had already made three hundred 
francs. He had now a thousand of the bank’s money to 
gamble with. To-morrow he would buy ten chips of a 
hundred francs each and play with them instead of with 
louis. He was full of confidence. To-morrow the battle 
again; to-night the joy of victory. He rounded the 
corner where the grounds of the Casino overhang the 
station, and entered the quieter garden beyond. Finding 
a shadowed seat he sat down to smoke. He was soon in 
a happy reverie. 

A rock garden close by formed a small plateau on 
which was a pergola. Suddenly his attention was drawn 
to it. He saw two people emerge from the shadow. At 
first he thought they were lovers ; then he noticed they 
were struggling. As he bent forward trying to pierce 
the darkness he heard a woman’s faint cry of distress. 
Rising swiftly, he ran towards them. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


PLUNGING 

1 . 

A MAN in evening dress was holding a girl and 
trying to draw her closer to him. 

“Leave me alone,” she moaned; “let me go or 
I’ll scream for help. I will, I tell you. . . .” 

“You little fool! As if a kiss or two would hurt you. 
Come on, I’ve got the car down below. Let me take you 
for a spin.” 

“No, no. Let me go home to mother.” 

He laughed. “You know your mother’s in the Casino 
playing the fool, with money I lent her, — the last, by 
God ! she ever gets from me, — unless you are more amiable. 
I say, let’s go over to Ciro’s and have something.” 

“Oh, please let me go. You’re hurting me. I must find 
mother. She wouldn’t like me to be alone here.” 

“Bah! As long as she can gamble, your precious 
mother doesn’t care two pins what you do. Why, she 
knows you’re with me. She’s got an extra thousand to- 
night to keep out of the way. Come on, be reasonable! 
I’ll save your mother yet; but you’ve got to be pretty 
nice. Here, another kiss. . . 

“Oh, no. Please don’t. You forget yourself. You’ve 
been drinking. Let me go, I say, let me go. . . .” 

His answer was to clutch her more fiercely. With a 
sudden wrench she freed herself and broke away. He 
stood swaying for a moment, then with a drunken laugh 

201 


202 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


sprang after her. His arms were once more about to 
close around her when Hugh leapt forward and dealt him 
a blow. The man went down. 

The girl had turned. In the radiance of an arc light 
Hugh saw her fear-distorted face. 

“Miss Emslie!” 

“Yes, yes,” she panted. “Oh, please help me. I’m 
afraid. . . .” 

“You needn’t be afraid. I’ll deal with this chap.” 

“I don’t know you, but I’ve seen you often. How can 
I thank you. . . .” 

“Never mind about that. Run home to your friends.” 

She vanished. As the man rose Hugh recognized Paul 
Yulning, his face flushed with wine and deadly with rage. 

“You young devil, you! Why did you do that?” 

“Because under the circumstances it seemed the proper 
thing to do.” 

“Is it the proper thing to interfere in an affair that 
doesn’t concern you?” 

“Her friends are my friends.” 

“Who the devil are you? I’ve never met you. If it 
were not for these fellows there I’d thrash you.” 

“These fellows” were two firemen who had appeared 
from |he shadow. Probably they had been there all the 
time but had not judged the moment opportune to inter- 
vene. Hugh laughed. 

“We needn’t let that stand in our way. If there’s 
thrashing to be done, I expect we can find lots of quiet 
places down on the beach.” 

“I would be a fool to do that. I don’t know who you 
are. You may be a crook for all I know.” 

“I may be. You don’t know me. But I know you for 
a rotter and a cad.” 


THE WHEEL 


203 


Paul Vulning’s face grew purple in its fury. Throwing 
discretion to the winds, he rushed and swung a heavy 
blow. The two firemen valiantly tried to come between 
them, and one of them received the vicious swing intended 
for Hugh. Angered, he too struck out. There threat- 
ened to be a general mix-up, when a voice, suave but edged 
with authority, made them all turn. 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, what’s this about? Do you 
want to be arrested?” 

A tall dark man, with a lean intelligent face and a 
bland smile, seemed to have sprung from nowhere. It 
was Krantz. He continued smoothly: 

“I would strongly recommend you both to go home. 
You know, gentlemen, we don’t want trouble in the Prin- 
cipality. Peace, perfect peace is our ideal. Be advised, 
messieurs: go home.” 

Paul Vulning’s jaw had dropped, and he was staring 
at Krantz with a look that was half fascination, half 
fear. Then with a glower of hate at Hugh, he strode 
away. 

The next day, as he had planned, Hugh played with 
placques and won a thousand francs. On his way out 
he met Mr. Gimp. The little lean man seemed agitated 
as he fumbled over “the makings.” He pursed out his 
underlip grimly. 

“Heard the news?” 

“No.” 

“Mrs. Emslie . . . she’s gone . . . the veronal route 

2 . 

One morning Hugh awoke joyously and sang as he 
dressed. 


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THE POISONED PARADISE 


“You seem very gay,” said Margot, “considering you 
came home so ver3 r late last night.” 

“Yes, it was a gala night at Cafe de Paris. Masked 
dancers and all that sort of thing. Very jolly. But I’m 
gay for another reason. Look. . . .” 

He spread on the table five notes of a thousand francs 
each. “There ! Gaze, gloat, marvel — the bank’s money.” 

Her obvious awe was touched with anxiety. 

“And you’ve made all that?” 

“All.” 

“You’re wonderful. You’ll stop now, I hope.” 

“Stop nothing ! I’m going on. I’ve got a lucky 
streak.” 

“You’ll lose it all again.” 

“ Tcmt pis! I’m going to risk it. I’m going to play big. 
I say, you’d better come and watch me.” 

“Never! I couldn’t. The emotion! It would be pain- 
ful.” 

“That’s what I love, — the emotion. The moment, just 
before the ball drops, when the heart seems to pause. 
Whether one wins or loses one has that precious thrill. 
Come.” 

“No, thank you.” 

Alone Hugh climbed the familiar hill. On his left 
towered huge hotels, on his right the water of the gem- 
like harbour was like lapis lazuli, the quays like porcelain. 
Dainty yachts, all varnish and brasswork, glassed them- 
selves exquisitely. A carmine car dashed past him. Hugh 
caught a glimpse of Paul Vulning at the wheel. The seat 
raked so that he seemed to be lying down. Beside him 
sat the cross-eyed chauffeur. 

Hugh entered the Rooms with no definite plan of play- 


THE WHEEL 


205 


ing. His five thousand francs were folded up into a small 
packet. It was curious, he thought as he fingered it, how 
suddenly he seemed to lose all sense of its value. It was 
not money at all, merely a ball of worthless paper. A 
magnificent recklessness came over him. Going to the first 
table, he took from his pocket the greasy wad of notes 
and threw it on red. There it was gone, that crumpled 
soiled packet. He was rid of it. In another moment that 
silly little ball would drop into a black slot, and he would 
turn away with a careless smile. . . . No, it had dropped 
into a red. How funny! He saw everybody turn to 
look at him. He stood in a daze while the croupier 
unfolded his notes, counted them and paid him five more. 
He had been in the Casino just one minute and he had 
made five thousand francs. 

He was back in his room half an hour after he had left 
it. He spread his ten notes out on the table. Margot 
looked at him with admiration and anxiety. He enjoyed 
the admiration. 

“Come on,” he said ; “I won’t play any more to-day. 
We’ll go to Nice for lunch and make an afternoon of it.” 

The next day he followed his impulse again, and threw 
five thousand francs on black. He lost. Going to another 
table he played again on black and won. The situation 
was unchanged, but his nerves were a little uncertain. 

The following day he hesitated ; but finally, after taking 
three imaginary losses, he played for a win, and got it. 
He had now fifteen thousand francs. 

On the fourth day his nerve failed him. After watch- 
ing the play, making up his mind, then hesitating and 
drawing back again he came away without having played. 

On the fifth day he played a well known coup that comes 


206 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


off three times out of five. After a long run on black, a 
break and a return to black, he played on red and won. 
Twenty thousand francs. 

That afternoon like a miser he spread his twenty big 
notes all over the table, and a sudden exaggerated sense 
of their value came to him. Twenty thousand francs ! 
Why, it meant Capital. In some quiet country place he 
could live for three or four years on that ; buy himself an 
interest in a business, get a good start in life again. The 
Casino had served him well. 

Margot looked at him with growing anxiety. “ You’ll 
stop now, won’t you?” 

“No, I haven’t got enough yet.” 

“ Mon Dieu! How much do you want?” 

“Sixty thousand ! I want to buy a good car for about 
twenty thousand. Then there’s a little cottage with a big 
garden at Villefranche I can get for another twenty. Be- 
tween the car and the garden I think I can make a pret- 
ty tidy living.” 

“And the third twenty?” 

“That’s for you, my child. What the French call a 
dot y the day you marry.” 

“And if I never marry?” 

“Well, then, you’ll keep house for me in my little cot- 
tage covered with roses. You’ll still be my little sister.” 

“That’s nicer. Now you can stop at forty thousand.” 

“No. I’m an obstinate brute. Sixty thousand goes.” 

The girl sighed. “By the way we have a new neigh- 
bour, such a fine looking old man, a Professor Durand.” 

“The dickens ! I know him quite well. He’s a lit- 
tle touched. Thinks he has an invincible system that’s 
going to bust up the Casino.” 

“Yes, the concierge told me. He has books and books 


THE WHEEL 207 

of figures and diagrams. He works over them night and 
day.” 

“Seems to me the concierge takes too much interest in 
his locataires. I don’t like that man. I wish you would 
talk to him as little as possible.” 

“Very well. I don’t like him myself, he ... he tried to 
make love to me.” 

“The dog ! I’ll smash him.” 

“No, please don’t make a fuss. I stopped him pretty 
quick. It doesn’t do to make enemies of those people.” 

The following day Hugh met Professor Durand on the 
stairway. The old man was bronzed and hale-looking. 

“Ha! my young friend!” he said. “Yes, I’ve been in 
the mountains, the pines, preparing for the battle. I 
want all the strength that is left in me to accomplish my 
mission.” 

“Poor old chap !” thought Hugh, “he doesn’t know 
what’s in front of him. Pathetic! Maybe another Casino 
tragedy.” 

3. 

As he was sitting in the Cafe de Paris that evening 
listening to the music, Hugh idly watched the entrance 
to the Casino with its four great lanterns. In the softened 
lustre its pale yellow stone took on a mellow radiance al- 
most onyxlike. Seen through the palms with the stars 
for a background it was like a gleaming palace of delight, 
poised over the mystery of the sea. 

Into the pool of light from the doorway swished glossy 
limousines from which descended elegantly dressed people. 
One, a very tall man, mounted the steps and paused for 
a moment. He had a spade-shaped beard, a swarthy 
face, and a hooked nose. 


208 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“First time I’ve seen that chap,” thought Hugh. 
“Looks like a grandee of old Castile, but is probably an 
Armenian money-changer.” 

Just at that moment Mr. Tope came bustling up. “I 
say,” said Hugh, “who’s that hidalgo-looking johnny on 
the steps?” 

Mr. Tope screwed a monocle into his right eye. “Don’t 
know exactly. Some say he’s a South American, ex-presi- 
dent of some small republic who got away with the state 
treasure. Wouldn’t be surprised. He has a vulturish 
look. The scum of the world find their way here, and as 
long as they have money they are welcome. By the way, 
I hear great things of you, winning maximums and so 
on. Congratulations, young man ! Any one who can get 
ahead of that institution over there has my profound ad- 
miration. You know, my boy, they’re making a million 
a week; and they say there’s a suicide a day. I believe 
that’s an exaggeration, though. If they put it at six 
a week they might be nearer the truth. I suppose you’ve 
heard of the latest one? . . .” 

“No.” 

“That big man with the skullcap; they used to call 
him ‘Cheero.’ ” 

“Really!” 

“Prussic acid in the Cafe of the Casino. They always 
said he was the luckiest player in the Rooms, the man 
who never lost. As it turned out he did nothing but lose ; 
he lost a million and hid it behind that placid smile. That 
smile was a mask that hid his agony. . . .” 

“Pretty rough ! One never knows. Oh, I say, I haven’t 
seen anything of the Calderbrooks lately.” 

“No, they’re lying low at present. They went through 
their letter of credit and then borrowed from the bank. 


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209 


The old man wanted to go home, but the two women per- 
suaded him to stay another month. They put a mortgage 
on their house, and are having two thousand pounds sent 
out.” 

“And what about Mrs. Emslie’s daughter?” 

“Oh, June. The Fitzoswalds have taken her in. Poor 
girl ! She was very ill after the tragedy. We wanted to 
send her to England, but it seems she has no relatives 
there. They come from Australia. The mother gambled 
away all the girl’s fortune and the poor thing is alone in 
the world, helpless and destitute.” 

“Is she better now?” 

“Yes. The mother led her an awful life. June is help- 
ing Mrs. Fitzoswald to look after the kiddies. You know 
Mrs. Fitz? Spunky little Irishwoman with bronze gold 
hair and a turned up nose! Fitz is that red-headed, one- 
legged man; always plays the same game, builds up louis 
round the number thirty-two. He says it is his wife’s 
age, but she denies it. She says she wishes Fitz would 
hurry up and be ruined, for then they could go home to 
Ireland and live in peace. Well, they’re awfully fine peo- 
ple, and so good to June. I say, young man, there’s a 
chance for you. A sweet, pretty, refined girl, friendless 
and without a sou . Why don’t you sail in, marry her 
and be happy ever after?” 

“But I’ve never had the faintest idea of marrying.” 

“Ah well, poor June must become a nurse or a gover- 
ness, or fall into the clutches of some professional seducer 
such as Vulning. I’ve heard he’s after her. I hope the 
Major gets ruined pretty soon, and then the Fitzoswalds 
can take June away from this infected hell.” 


210 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


4 . 

The very next day Hugh encountered June Emslie. She 
was playing with the Fitzoswald children in the circular 
sand-pit near the dove-cage. She started and grew pale; 
then advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. 
Neither of them referred to the previous meeting. He 
found her timid, painfully embarrassed, but shyly wor- 
shipping as she looked at him. Come to think of it, he 
had made rather an effective entry on the scene that 
night, quite in the hero of romance fashion. If she was 
at all sentimental she must have idealized him. Being a 
prosaic young man he was rather annoyed at the thought 
and his manner became brusque, careless even. Her re- 
cent sorrow had not driven the fresh colour from her 
cheeks. If Margot was the type of the lily this girl 
was like a rose. Her features were sensitive and deli- 
cate, her hair a dark chestnut, her eyes deep blue. She 
was tall, and slender, and apparently not more than sev- 
enteen. After a few commonplace remarks, he said: 

“If I can do anything for you, anything at all, please 
let me know. Think of me as a friend, and call on me 
if ever you should need me.” 

She understood what he meant and a deep flush over- 
spread her face. 

“Yes, I will. Thank you so much. By the way, — I 
don’t know your name.” 

He told her. “Shall I write it down?” he asked. 

“Oh no. I assure you I can remember it.” 

They said good-bye and he left her with an impression 
of her virginal sweetness and budding charm. 

But she did not remain long in his thoughts. That 
afternoon he had an engagement with Mrs. Belmire. Of 


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211 


late she had gone out of her way to be nice to him, and 
he had begun to admire her enthusiastically. He was 
proud to be seen with her, and was blind to her deficiencies. 
She had for him the attraction of the ripe, experienced 
woman for the raw, callow youth. When she asked him 
to take her to Cap Martin, her request made him simmer 
with joyous excitement. 

He called for her in a voiture with two horses and they 
drove along the shore road. She was simpler and sweeter 
than he had ever known her; but, he thought, abstracted 
and depressed. They sat on the rocks awhile, then had 
tea in the hotel. On the way home her pensiveness in- 
creased so noticeably that at last he taxed her with it. 

“I say, what’s the matter? You seem so sad to-day.” 

She turned with a forced smile. “Am I? Perhaps I 
am. You see I’m worried. But then what have my trou- 
bles got to do with you?” 

“Oh, please tell me. Look on me as a friend.” 

“Dear boy, so I do. Well, I’m in difficulties — financial 
difficulties. I’ve got money coming out from England; 
but I’ve had such rotten luck at baccarat lately, and a 
lot of little bills have been coming in, and . . . well, this 
is all I have to meet them.” 

From her vanity bag she took a tiny jewelled purse, 
and showed him in its satin interior a few torn franc bills 
and some sous. 

“Grotesque, isn’t it? I wouldn’t care, only there’s my 
week’s bill at the pension. I’ll pull through some- 
how . . .” 

Hugh thrilled with sympathy; he blushed, stammered 
and blurted out: “I say, I’ve been rather lucky at the 
tables lately. Won’t you let me help you ... a little 
loan . . .” 


212 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Oh, no, I couldn’t think of it.” 

“It will be a privilege. Make me happy, please, by ac- 
cepting.” 

“Well, if you put it that way. I know you’ve been 
lucky, dear boy. You’re just too nice. Perhaps a mille 
would tide me over.” 

Hugh feverishly searched his pocket book. Alas ! he 
had prudently left his big bills with Margot. All he had 
were some twenty ten franc notes. 

“Look here, it’s too bad,” he said, “I’ve left all my 
money at home. But, to-night, if you can meet me at the 
Cafe de Paris at nine, I’ll have it.” 

“I can count on that?” 

“Yes.” 

“You darling! I say . . . there’s no one on the road. 
Quick. If you like, you may kiss me.” 

5 . 

He arrived at the Cafe de Paris about half past eight, 
keyed up and exalted. The afternoon seemed to have 
added an inch to his stature. The most charming woman 
in Monte! . . . And he had kissed her. . . . Having a 
little time to spare he went into the Rooms. The impulse 
he knew so well was luring him on. 

“If I give her a milled he thought, “why not make the 
Casino pay for it?” 

At the first table he threw a maximum on red and won. 
Rather sourly they paid him six thousand francs. 

“Five thousand for me,” he said, “and a thousand for 
Mrs. B.” 

He found her exquisitely dressed and impatiently await- 
ing him. His luck had added to his excitement. He was 


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213 


feeling capable of any folly. He folded up a mille note 
very neatly and slipped it into her bag. Then somewhat 
to his chagrin she excused herself. 

“I’m awfully sorry. I have an engagement at the club. 
Probably see you to-morrow.” 

She left him feeling rather chilled and sober. 

“Well,” he consoled himself, “perhaps it is just as well. 
In any case I now have twenty-five thousand francs.” 

He did not play for the next few days. His success 
rather dismayed him ; his nerve was gone. Then on two 
successive days a chance appeared which was too favour- 
able to be resisted ; it was what he called a sure shot. 
As a matter of fact, it really came off in five cases out of 
six, but only by watching and waiting could one get on 
to it. A long run on one of the simple chances had to be 
followed by a certain combination of both chances. In 
each case when he played it he won; his capital had now 
increased to thirty-five thousand francs. 

He began to feel what he had never felt in his life be- 
fore, — secure. To a rich man that sum was nothing; to 
him, everything. But he was becoming increasingly ner- 
vous. He must not lose this money. He must be more 
prudent than ever. If he lost it, it would discourage him 
utterly ; he would never have the heart to begin over 
again. Yet he must make the sixty thousand on which 
he had set his heart. Only twenty-five thousand more. 
Pour wins of maximums would practically do it. Well, 
he must pluck up his courage and try again. He must 
nerve himself for the final struggle. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


THE BIG FIGHT 

D URING his long spells of waiting, he became more 
and more intimately acquainted with the world 
of the Casino, — from the prowling seeker of the 
sure-shot to the holiday plunger, from the philosophic 
veteran with pencil and note-book to the nouveau-riche 
spraying the table with louis. He came to know the eter- 
nal types, the avid-eyed old women, the blowsy, brazen 
matron, the cocotte throwing money away with cynical 
contempt, the young girl from the convent risking her 
first five-franc piece. 

Then the unending Casino comedies. For instance, the 
Honeymoon Couple comedy. The first day she hangs on 
his arm while he plays. The second day he hangs on 
her arm while she plays. The third day they separate 
a little and try tiny flutters of their own. The fourth 
day they get seats at the same table and advise each other 
as to their play. The fifth day they get seats at separate 
tables, and each plays as if the other did not exist. The 
sixth day she is begging him for money, and he is re- 
fusing. The seventh day they moon round without play- 
ing, he moody, she sulky, very near to a quarrel. Then 
on the eighth day they disappear, perhaps never to be 
the same again. 

Then there is the woman who talks to the croupier, 
fawning on him and asking him how she ought to play. 
Sometimes the knight of the rateau hazards a guess. If 

214 


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it comes off , tant mieuoc. Perhaps, it means a tip ; if it 
doesn’t, tant pis. No man is infallible. 

These types repeat themselves endlessly ; but among 
them from time to time appear strange original characters 
piquing the curiosity of the public. The Casino is like 
a stage where they enter, play their parts, and make 
their exit. Old and young, good and bad, rich and 
poor, — they come and go ; they lose or win ; they sidle 
across the glossy floor under the great white dome; they 
smirk and posture, wrangle and vapour. Beefy English- 
man and desiccated Yank, flatulent Frenchman and oily 
Italian, morose Spaniard and bovine Swede; Jap, China- 
man, Rasta and Levantine Jew — they mix amid the 
throng that surges around the whirring wheels, and their 
strange tongues mingle in one confused babble. 

So fantastic did it appear to Hugh that at times he 
rubbed his eyes and wondered if it could be real. How 
he wished he were a writer. If only he could see into their 
hearts, know their histories, pick their brains, what books 
he could write, a library of books, a document of human- 
kind that would outweigh the works of Balzac and Zola 
combined. 

He became better acquainted with daily frequenters of 
the Casino and watched them with unceasing amusement. 
There was one, a Greek, a grossly fat man with three 
chins and a promontory of greasy waistcoat. On his 
pudgy hand he wore rubies as large as walnuts; and as 
he walked from table to table, laying mille placques on the 
dozens he never ceased to perspire. The tall woman in 
grey also attracted him. She was always gloved, always 
veiled. She played with persistency her game on number 
one, losing or winning with apparent indifference. Who 


216 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


was she? She went from table to table with the strange- 
ness and mystery of a specter. 

His attention was drawn irresistibly to the very tall man 
with the spade-shaped beard, who, he had learned, was a 
Brazilian diplomat. His name was Doctor Bergius and 
he was said to be of mixed Spanish and German parentage. 
From the moment he had entered the Rooms, the doctor 
had become a dominating personality. He was as straight 
as a shoot of bamboo, with a high carriage and an 
eye of piercing command. His long nose resembled the 
beak of a vulture of the Andes; his brow retreated 
from his piercing black eyes and his skin was as coppery 
as that of an Indian. He always dressed with immacu- 
late care. He never played, but looking gravely on, 
with his hands behind his back, appeared only remotely 
interested in the game. 

Then there was another man who attracted Hugh, 
partly because he was so graceful and handsome, partly 
because he had once broken the bank. He was an Italian 
called Castelli, of medium height and well-shaped figure. 
He had the olive skin, dark velvety eyes, and the perfect 
features often found in men who prey on women. He 
always had women with him. He played a dashing game, 
superbly indifferent to loss or gain. 

Hugh was conscious of an atmosphere of unceasing sus- 
picion. Every day hundreds of false louis were foisted 
on the bank, and no one knew how it was done. It was 
impossible to check them. Most of the players were too 
lazy to cash in before leaving the Casino and the chips 
continued to circulate in town as freely as money. The 
Casino inspectors were up on their toes, every one was 
being watched. 

One day there came to him the mood for which he was 


THE WHEEL 


217 


waiting, the conquering mood. His nerves were of steel, 
and he felt that he could win a fortune or lose all without 
turning a hair. He had in his pockets seven packets of 
five thousand francs each. He sat down at the suicide 
table and began to play. 

It was strange how confident he was. Something was 
fighting on his side. He could not be beaten. Then to his 
dismay, he lost the first coup , but won the three following. 
Again he lost a coup, but gained another two. And so 
it went on. The scales dipped, now for, now against him. 
On the whole, however, fortune favoured him, and he stead- 
ily drew ahead. 

At last the great battle was on. He felt inspired. 
Silently he sat, watchful, emotionless as a wax figure. 
His eyes became opaque; and a crease of concentration 
came between his brows. 

“A big game,” the rumour spread. “Come and see.” 

The circle of watchers deepened and their interest in- 
creased. But to Hugh they were only a dull blur of mean- 
ingless faces. No, not all, for he saw one that thrilled 
him for a moment. It was that of Mrs. Belmire. Then 
her too he forgot in the stress of the struggle. 

And it was in reality a struggle. The bank had aban- 
doned its attitude of disdain, and was directly fighting 
him. No longer was he a petty “piker” but a foeman 
worth while. He felt that the eight silent men in black 
who ran the table were concentrating their wills against 
his. Psychology was coming into play. He willed that 
that capricious little ball should go one way ; these eight 
willed it to take another. He would beat them; he 
would make the ball go where he wanted it to go. 

He waited until it was spun; and then, acting from 
sheer impulse, threw a packet of notes on one of the 


218 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


simple chances. Sometimes he even threw on two chances. 
The battle swayed. He advanced, he retreated, but only 
to advance again. 

As the spirit of the fight glowed in him, his play in- 
creased in boldness. If he fell he would fall gloriously. 
Eor once he had the centre of the stage. He would be 
worthy of the part, of the audience. He began to play 
on all three simple chances. He won . . . and won again. 
Fortune favoured the brave. Hurrah for the big game ! 
Again a triple shot. Ha! he had lost one of the three 
that time. . . . Well, the next time. The grey croupier 
who was paying did not look at all pleased. No wonder! 
Handing out mille notes continually from the little grilled 
box. And the chef de parti was scowling at the little chap 
who twirled the ball. Hugh won another coup, another 
fifteen thousand. 

“Messieurs, le boule passe” 

The cowards ! They were changing the croupier who 
threw the ball. That one was too unlucky. What a 
stack of notes he had. Must be nearly a hundred thou- 
sand. Ah, the devil ! this new man was beating him. He 
had lost . . . lost . . . lost. His stack was diminishing. 
His luck had turned. He heard people asking: “Why 
doesn’t he stop?” No, he would win back again . . . win 
back. He was dazed. He scarcely knew what he was 
doing. He was reaching out to play another time when 
a hand gripped his arm. 

“You darned young fool, quit now. Quit while you’re 
still to the good.” 

It was Mr. Gimp. The American dragged him away 
from the table, followed by the admiring gaze of a hun- 
dred eyes. Then in a corner they counted the gains. 
With his own capital he had fifty-five thousand francs. 


THE WHEEL 


219 


He sat on a leather seat in a stupor. He wanted to 
smoke a cigarette, to go home, but did not have energy 
enough. Then, when he was finally -starting the stranger’s 
door swung open and Professor Durand made his first 
entrance into the Rooms. 


CHAPTER NINE/ 


THE PROFESSOR BEGINS 

1 . 

T HE professor advanced with an impressive dignity. 
Even the two blue coated attendants who guarded 
the middle portal stared and gaped. They were 
used to strange figures, but never had they seen a stranger. 

The professor wore a black frock-coat of a by-gone 
day. He carried a brigandish hat in one hand, and a cane 
with an ebony knob in the other. His silvery hair coiled 
over his shoulders ; his deep, broad beard was patriarchal ; 
he walked with a slow, deliberate step. Every one turned 
to look at him as he passed. 

“It’s Father Christmas,” said a man, and everybody 
tittered. The name stuck. 

But the professor paid no attention to them. He 
seemed to know just what he wanted to do. He went 
straight to the table favoured by the system-player, the 
one next the “Opium Dream Room”, and handed five 
francs to the sour old lady who takes down the numbers 
for the Monte Carlo Revue. Promptly she gave him her 
place. 

“Come,” said Hugh to Mr. Gimp, “I know the old chap. 
He’s queer. Let’s watch him.” 

Others too were hastening to watch, and expectancy 
was in the air. The professor seemed entirely unconscious 
of the interest he aroused. He carefully installed himself* 

220 


THE WHEEL 


221 


then took from an inner pocket a long red note-book and 
a pencil. He asked the old lady to show him her numbers, 
and copied down the last dozen. Then taking out thirty 
thousand francs in bills he demanded counters. There 
was something so elaborately pretentious in these prepara- 
tions that even the croupiers looked at one another, 
though they did not lose their contemptuous smiles. 

The professor peered through his silver rimmed spec- 
tacles at the numbers and sat for awhile, taking down the 
fresh ones as they occurred, and consulting carefully his 
long red note-book. Finally he stood up with an air of 
decision, and put the maximum on thirty-two in every 
possible way, — en plein, chevals, carres, transversals, doz- 
ens columns, simple chances. When he had finished he had 
on the table about twenty-five thousand francs. Even 
the croupiers stared. A thrill of excitement ran through 
the circle of watchers, but the least moved was the old man. 
He leaned back and waited with calm confidence for the 
spin. It came. It was the number thirty-four. He had 
lost. 

Not all, though. It is true he had missed the number, 
but he had got the three simple chances, the dozen, a 
transversal double, a caree. He had won about ten thou- 
sand francs. 

The croupiers shrugged their shoulders. People looked 
at each other with eyes that said, “Fool’s luck !” The pro- 
fessor again consulted his notes. He seemed a little non- 
plussed. He allowed three coups to go by without play- 
ing, then on the fourth he rose again and built his maxi- 
mums about the thirty-two. 

The croupiers seemed now to realize the dramatic value 
of the situation. The spinner turned the wheel solemnly 
as if it were a sacred rite ; there was a tense moment, then 


222 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


a thrill ran through the crowd. In a voice that trembled 
with chagrin the croupier called out: 

“T rente deux , rouge pair et passe." 

The old man had won. They paid him carefully and 
ostentatiously. He gathered the notes in a worn leather 
wallet, put his note-book and pencil back into his inner 
pocket, rose and went away. A crowd followed him to the 
door ; inspectors gathered in groups and talked ; directors 
looked down from upper windows. Never had there been 
such a sensational debut . 

“It’s fantastic, : ” said Hugh. “What with my own luck 
and the professor’s you could bowl me over with a feather. 
I want to indulge in hysterical laughter.” 

“Better indulge in a brandy and soda,” said Mr. Gimp. 
“I’ll see you home after.” 


2 . 

Hugh found Margot embroidering a piece of white silk. 
He marvelled at the delicate patience of her fingers. 

“How jolly nice. What’s it for?” 

“A blouse.” 

“Good. You’ll look ripping in that.” 

“You think so? . . . but it’s not for me.” 

“Not for you!” 

“No, you see, I’ve got some sewing to do. I might as 
well. I have many spare hours each day. I am trying to 
make a little money. It’s that nice lingerie shop near the 
Hotel de Paris.” 

“Good Heavens! And how much can you make at 
that?” 


THE WHEEL 


223 


“About five francs a day.” 

“The deuce! What would you say if I told you that 
to-day I had made fifty thousand?” 

“You didn’t ...” 

“I did. It’s true I lost some of it afterwards. Ah! if 
I’d only stopped in time. But I hung on to thirty 
thousand.” 

Eagerly he took out his sheaf of bills, and spread them 
before her. 

“There! I’ve fifty-five thousand, only five short of the 
sixty.” 

She looked frightened. She laid her hand on his. 

“You’ll stop now. Please say you’ll stop.” 

“No, I want sixty.” 

She was silent, staring with troubled eyes before her, 
her embroidery in her lap. 

“Wake up,” he laughed. “You’re in a trance. What 
are you thinking of, — your dowry?” 

“No, of that rose-covered cottage.” 

“Oh, that. ... I say, you’re not going on with that 
embroidery for the sake of making a measly five francs 
a day?” 

“Why not ? It’s clean money.” 

“Don’t you think this money is clean?” 

“No, I might have thought so once; but now . . . I’ve 
had my lesson.” 

“I haven’t. It’s good enough for me. Why, it would 
take me twenty years to save this money in the usual 
way, and make a wreck of me at the same time. Life’s 
too hard a battle. We can’t afford to choose our 
weapons.” 

A knock came at the door. It was Professor Durand. 


224 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


The old man had doffed his dignity, and was in slippers 
and a dressing gown. He bowed profoundly to Margot, 
then he said to Hugh with a benevolent smile : 

“I saw a light and thought you might have returned. 
I am lonely. I wonder if you would care to come to my 
den and smoke a pipe.” 

Hugh followed the old man. The room surprised him. 
There was a steel safe in one corner, a large cabinet, a 
broad table covered with papers on which were algebraic 
formulas and geometrical figures. 

“My workshop,” said the professor. “You saw me to- 
day? Eh, what!” 

“Yes, I congratulate you. You made a wonderful be- 
ginning.” 

“No, I’m not satisfied. My timing was out. To-mor- 
row I’ll do better. I’ll only play once, but I’ll hit it.” 

The professor spoke with such conviction that Hugh 
was impressed. 

“Extraordinary ! A marvellous system. A discovery.” 

“No, not a discovery, an invention. Just as logarithms 
was an invention. But remember, it took me twenty years 
to perfect it with all the resources of the higher mathe- 
matics at my command. Twenty years ! Come, take that 
easy chair and light up. I’m going to give you a liqueur, 
some very old Chartreuse ; and we’ll talk.” 

The professor, however, did most of the talking. 
“Look,” said he, “at that stack of green volumes. You 
have there the records of table number two for the past 
thirteen years. I know that table like a living thing, and 
yet I never saw it until to-day.” 

“I suppose,” said Hugh, “that you base your system 
on the law of average ?” 

The professor laughed tolerantly. “No, I don’t. Law 


THE WHEEL 


225 


of average, — that is child’s talk to me. Of course every 
table has its average, every wheel has its average, every 
croupier, you, I ; every coup that is played, is an average 
with something that has gone before. Ah ! these foolish 
system players with their talk of average and probability 
and phenomenon. Why, every coup is a phenomenon as 
regards something that has gone before. These things 
don’t exist. They are sounding terms that mean nothing. 
No, the trouble is that all these students of the laws of 
chance go about it wrongly. Their systems are analytic, 
mine is synthetic.” 

“Do you claim that it is infallible?’ 

“By no means. You saw me fail to-day. What I do 
claim is that I will succeed one time out of three.” 

“That’s good enough.” 

“Good enough to ruin the bank. I won’t stop till I 
have taken a hundred millions from them. Don’t think I 
want the money. I won’t touch one sou of it.” 

“What will you do with it ?” 

“I am a patriot. My country is in trouble, in debt. I 
will give it all to my country.” 

“But why do you hate the Casino? Is it revenge?” 

“No, retribution. My only son came here, played, lost 
all . . . he’s dead. Now you know the brutal truth. I 
did not intend to tell any one. It’s painful even after 
twenty years. . . 

“I understand . . 

“Well, you’ll see me play to-morrow. I’ll take my seat 
at three o’clock sharp.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

“I have them in the hollow of my hand. They don’t 
suspect, they don’t dream. But to-morrow they will begin 
to be uneasy, and as I close my hand to crush them 


226 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


they will be seized with panic, they will be filled with de- 
spair. That will be the time I shall need some one to aid 
me, to protect me, for I am old. I want a young man full 
of intelligence, of courage, to guard me, and if need be, 
to carry on my work. For instance, — you ! Now do you 
understand why I have asked you here to-night, why I 
have told you all I have? . . . We’ll talk again of this.” 

It was late when Hugh left the old man and returned to 
his room. Margot was still bent over her embroidery. 

“You’ll hurt your eyes,” he remonstrated; but she 
shook her head obstinately. 

“No, I won’t stop. I promised madame I’d finish this 
for to-morrow.” 

3. 

When he arrived at the Casino the following afternoon, 
he saw a crowd collected under the great rubber tree on 
the edge of the “Cheese.” To his amazement he found 
that it was gathered around Mrs. Fitzoswald and her 
little brood. He heard exclamations such as : “The poor 
dears ! What a shame ! Such a plucky little woman !” 

Mrs. Fitz was excited. The light of battle was in her 
eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. She proclaimed her 
wrongs to the skies. 

“Yes,” she cried, pointing to the Casino, “they ruined 
him, the dirty rascals. They got all his money and now 
they’ve thrown him into prison. A mutile of the war; a 
man who has given his leg for freedom, thrown into prison 
like a criminal. But I’ll have justice. I’ll stand here 
till they release him. Look at his innocent children, with- 
out food, without shelter.” 

At this the three little girls, aged seven, five and three, 
began to weep and cling to her. Only the baby in the 


THE WHEEL 227 

arms of June Emslie was unmoved, laughing and chuckling 
at the world. 

June explained to Hugh what the trouble was. Major 
Fitzoswald, it seemed, was expecting money from England 
and had issued a cheque against it for the rent of his 
apartment. Unfortunately the money was delayed and 
the cheque was refused. The landlord appealed to the 
authorities, who decided to make an example of the major. 
There had been similar cases and they felt that the 
citizens must be protected. So two very gorgeous gen- 
darmes had driven Major Fitzoswald to the Rock of 
Monaco and presumably thrown him into its deepest dun- 
geon. Meanwhile the landlord had put his wife and chil- 
dren on the street. 

The English and American colony had been scandalized ; 
it was equivalent to a national insult. They had offered 
to pay the amount of the cheque ten times over, but the 
authorities were adamant. 

“No,” they had said pompously; “the law must take its 
course.” 

Both the English and American Consuls had been ap- 
pealed to and had done their best to get the Major re- 
leased but without result. Public opinion was aroused; 
prominent men had interviewed the administration, but 
all to no purpose. The one-legged Major continued to 
languish in his cell. 

Then it was that Mrs. Fitz had come into action and, 
planting herself with her brood in front of the grand en- 
trance, she cried her woes to the world. A sympathetic 
crowd gathered, black looks were thrown at the tem- 
ple of chance, and its all-powerful administration were ob- 
jurgated. Every one was competing to aid the unfor- 
tunate victims. Hugh saw Mr. Fetterstein, the multi-mil- 


228 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


lionaire, descend the steps of the Hotel de Paris, and, to 
the scandal of the flunkeys, take back with him the whole 
bedraggled family for luncheon. 

As Hugh entered the Casino he found Mr. Gimp in his 
usual place between the two pillars at the entrance of the 
atrium. 

“Darned shame,” said Mr. Gimp. “Darned fine little 
woman. Nice kids. I took ’em all to Quinto’s for dinner 
last night. The whole thing’s a mistake. The Major’s 
a gallant gentleman, but that bunch of Dago scalawags 
that run this place are down on British and Americans. 
They like our money, but that’s all. There’s no law. 
The Casino gang runs the government. The w T hole popu- 
lation live on the Casino like lice on a shark. The Prince 
with his tin-pot army is in their pay. It’s mediaeval, fan- 
tastic, rotten. And you ask me, then, why do I stay here? 
I can’t tell you. I just stay.” 

Mr. Gimp inhaled his home-made cigarette and snorted 
out a cloud of disgust. 

“Say, I heard a good story of this place ! A guy once 
committed a crime. They ought to have guillotined him ; 
but as they didn’t have a guillotine, they decided to im- 
prison him for life. They threw him into a cell, but soon 
it became such a nuisance to cook his food, that they 
transferred him to a small hut near the frontier, hoping 
he would escape. They had his meals sent in to him from 
a neighbouring restaurant. But when the bills came in, 
they drew a long face. He cost some, this prisoner. They 
decided to pardon him, but he consulted a lawyer, and 
found that his pardon was irregular. He refused to 
accept it. Finally to get rid of him they had to pay him 
a big sum to escape. That’s a sample of how things are 
run here. . . . Look, there’s your friend the professor.” 


THE WHEEL 


229 


4. 

The sensation in Casino circles caused by Mrs. Fitz- 
oswald was as nothing compared to the excitement 
aroused by the second appearance of the professor. The 
news ran like an electric thrill from one end of the Rooms 
to the other. It communicated itself to the stolid blue- 
coated lackeys; to the wary, black-coated officials with 
their tiny cards, even to the callous croupiers them- 
selves. 

The professor stumped across the room leaning on his 
cane; the old lady gave him her place as before. Every 
one made way for him. He was the star player. 
Again he went through the same programme with note- 
book and pencil. He consulted the previous numbers 
and quickly came to a decision. But instead of buying 
chips as formerly, he handed the croupier the exact sum 
to play his series of maximums. Then he announced his 
number, — Five. 

It took some time to place the money correctly. The 
croupier did so with unction. His actions had all the 
solemnity of a ceremonial. Finally every stake was cor- 
rectly placed. Excitement held the crowd spellbound. 
With a determination at all cost to avoid the five, the 
spinner threw the ball. It whirled around smoothly, then 
dropped amid the diamond-shaped studs, dodged, re- 
bounded, zig-zagged, fell. A great shout arose. A sullen 
voice announced: “Cinq, rouge impair et manque .” 

Again the professor took up his gains and stumped his 
way through the admiring crowd. Once more he had 
gained over sixty thousand francs. 

On the following day he made his appearance a little 
after noon; the Rooms were at their quietest. On this 


230 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


occasion he seemed less sanguine of success. He made 
two shots but in neither case did he strike the number. 
However, his gains on his indirect stakes balanced his 
losses, and he rose from the table in a few minutes neither 
richer nor poorer. The Casino people breathed more 
freely. They had been puzzled and a little worried. They 
transferred their attention to the other and equally press- 
ing problems. 

As time went on, more and more of the false chips were 
being forced on the bank. Hugh felt the atmosphere of 
suspicion daily increasing in intensity. Black-coated in- 
spectors and spies were everywhere. No one’s affairs 
were private. The secret police were making desperate ef- 
forts to discover the fabricators of the false counters, but 
their efforts so far had resulted only in the conviction of 
a croupier for petty pilfering. He had done it by pre- 
tending to scratch his neck, and, in so doing, dropping 
a louis down his collar. They did not put him in prison, 
but hung a placard around his neck with I AM A THIEF 
printed on it, and marched him around Monaco before 
his friends and relations. Finally they kicked him across 
the frontier. 

Mrs. Fitzoswald, too, was giving them no small worry. 
The little woman was conducting her campaign with skill 
and tenacity. She was to be seen at all hours of the day 
in front of the Casino, relating her misfortunes to a sym- 
pathizing audience. Her children with tear-stained cheeks 
ably supported her. People felt that it was unfair to 
have their feelings harrowed when they came to enjoy 
themselves. Complaint after complaint reached the ad- 
ministration, which at last decided to take action. They 
offered to pay her passage and that of her children to 
England if she would go away at once. 


THE WHEEL 


231 


“What, go without my husband ! Never! Release him 
and pay his passage, too. That’s my ultimatum.” 

The authorities refused. Negotiations were broken off. 

On the fourth day the professor again made his ap- 
pearance in the afternoon; and again repeated his per- 
formance of the second day. The directors were in a 
state of consternation. For the first time they began to 
think that here was that inconceivable thing, a man with 
an invincible system. All Monte Carlo was talking of it. 
They awaited events with the greatest anxiety. 


CHAPTER TEN 


THE COMPACT 

1 . 

A S the following day was Sunday the professor 
did not play. Instead he went to early mass ac- 
companied by Margot, to whom he had taken a 
fancy, and in the afternoon the two went for a walk to- 
gether in the direction of Menton. They asked Hugh to 
accompany them but he refused. 

To tell the truth he had other fish to fry. Since his 
success, he had blossomed out in many ways. Some time 
before he had been to a good tailor and had several suits 
made. He had developed a fondness for the American 
Bar of the Cafe de Paris, and had become increasingly 
intimate with Mrs. Belmire. 

At first he had merely admired her immensely; he was 
flattered by her interest in him and had found a kind of 
heady pleasure, like champagne, in her society. In the end 
he had become really fascinated. Then one day something 
happened that acted on him like a spur. He was walking 
along the road to Beaulieu when a big carmine car swung 
round a bend. He recognized Vulning at the wheel. He 
thought the lady with him seemed familiar, but it was not 
until she looked back laughingly and waved her hand that 
he saw it was Mrs. Belmire. 

If it had been any other man he would not have minded. 
He knew she went about with Fetterstein and one or two 
others. But Vulning! . . . He disliked Vulning. He 

232 


THE WHEEL 233 

realized with a shock that he was jealously infatuated 
with the lady. 

On this particular Sunday afternoon he had arranged 
to motor with her to Brodighera. He was happy in the 
thought that he would have her all to himself for four 
radiant hours. 

They had not been long on the road when she said 
sweetly : 

“You poor boy ! I believe we nearly ran you down the 
other day. You looked ever so startled. Paul always 
drives so recklessly. He gives me all kinds of thrills.” 

“Why do you go out with him then?” Hugh snapped. 

She looked at him curiously. There was a gleam of 
amused satisfaction in her eye. 

“Why shouldn’t I? I love thrills. Besides he’s an old 
friend. Good gracious! I don’t believe you like him.” 

“Why should I?” 

“Oh, he’s not a bad sort. A bit blase and all that sort 
of thing. But . . . well, you don’t know him.” 

“We have met.” 

“Have you really? I asked him after we had passed 
if he knew you, and he said he didn’t. He meets so many 
I suppose he forgot. He’s much sought after.” 

Hugh grew more savage. Again he snapped. “I don’t 
believe he’s the man a woman should be seen with often 
if she values her reputation.” 

“Her reputation /” 

Hugh thought she was going to be angry. She stared 
at him a moment, then suddenly said: “Oh you funny 
boy! You nice boy! I like you so much for that. But 
. . . I do believe you’re jealous of Paul Yulning.” 

“Why should I be?” 

“Because he’s so like you. You’ve got the same regu- 


234 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


lar features, the same fair hair. You’re both tall and 
rather slight. But you needn’t resent all that. Paul is 
a rather soiled man of the world ; you are a nice clean boy 
who might be fresh from Oxford.” 

She looked at him thoughtfully. 

“I’d like to keep you as you are, but it might be better 
for yourself if you were a little more sophisticated. I 
have half a mind to take you in hand, to educate you in 
the ways of the world. May I ?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“No, I didn’t think you would. You are a little — may 
I say it? — naive sometimes. ... I say, don’t you admire 
my new blouse? I just got it this morning. The em- 
broidery’s so pretty, I think.” 

Something in the design struck Hugh as familiar. Yes, 
it was the work he had seen Margot sitting up so late 
to finish. 

“You look so serious. Don’t you like it?” 

“Yes, it’s lovely.” 

“I think so too. By the way, why don’t you begin to 
gamble again? You play so well and you are so lucky. 
You must join the Club. You might make lots of money. 
Talking about horrid money reminds me . . . mine hasn’t 
arrived and I’m rather low again. You may lend me an- 
other mille if you like.” 

On the way back they overtook an old man and a girl. 
It was Margot and the professor. Margot’s arms were 
full of flowers. Hugh waved to them, and the professor 
waved back. Margot only stared. Hugh felt uncom- 
fortable. He was sorry he had encountered them. 

When he reached home the room was bright with blos- 
soms. Margot was very quiet. She did not refer to their 
meeting and neither did he. But for some reason for 


THE WHEEL 235 

which he could not account, he did not care to meet her 
eyes. 

2 . 

On his way to the Casino, the next day, he missed the 
usual crowd at the edge of the “Cheese,” and hunting up 
Mr. Tope inquired after Mrs. Fitzoswald. 

“Haven’t you heard? The Casino capitulated. They 
had the Major released and paid the fares of the whole 
family to England. They all went off this morning.” 

“And June Emslie?” 

“I believe she got a job as a nurse girl or something 
with a family in Menton*” 

“Poor girl 1” 

“I say, let me tell you once more, there’s the very wife 
for a lad like you. Why don’t you marry her? Just 
as sweet as a rose, and badly up against it.” 

Hugh laughed and was glad of the diversion caused by 
the entrance of the Calderbrooks. 

“Hullo ! They’ve come back. I’ve missed them for 
some time,” he exclaimed. 

“They were lying low. No money! Now they’ve got 
out some more and are starting in again. I’m told they’ve 
sold or mortgaged their property in England and taken 
an apartment here. In a few years’ time they will be just 
like all the other derelicts, haunting the Casino with no 
money to play, seedy, down at heel, sodden. You know 
the sort. Look around ; you’ll see enough of ’em.” 

Mrs. Calderbrook with a resolute look, was stalking in 
front ; the girl Alicia, tall and slender, followed ; the father 
with his wistful blue eye and drooping grey moustache 
trailed after them. 

Hugh had heard that Alicia had been engaged to a 


236 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


young ex-aviator who had bought a ranch in Alberta. She 
had expected to have joined him as soon as possible, but 
Monte Carlo had thrown its spell over her. The thought 
of a lonely ranch on the prairie became unbearable and 
she broke off the engagement. She would probably never 
have another chance to marry. 

To Hugh’s surprise he did not find MacTaggart in his 
usual place under the Three Graces, but instead, in his 
seat was Mr. Gimp. 

“Yep,” said Mr. Gimp, sourly, “I’m old Mac’s deputy. 
Hate like hell to do this but he’s sick. He was getting 
out of bed, wanted to crawl down anyway, hated to lose 
his records. I made him go back and told him I’d take 
his place. It’s all damned rot, you know. I might as well 
put down any old numbers and give them to him. It 
would be the same in the end. Howsoever, I’m conscien- 
tious.” 

“Is he very sick?” 

“Nerves mostly. The success of your old friend, the 
professor, gave him a nasty jar. Kind o’ destroyed his 
confidence in his own system. Say, you want to tell the 
old boy to be careful. He was in this morning early, 
played five shots, and got the bulls-eye twice. Carried off 
over a hundred thousand francs.” 

“Why should he be careful?” 

“Because the Casino folks ain’t goin’ to stand that 
sort o’ thing indefinitely. They’re gettin’ scared ; and be- 
lieve me, when they get scared they’ll get desperate. It 
stands to reason, they ain’t goin’ to let themselves be 
ruined if they can help it. The old fellow seems to have 
some way of spotting a winner, or getting so close to it 
he breaks even. It’s plain now it ain’t all accident. Well, 
if he can make fifty thousand a day he can just as well 


THE WHEEL 237 

make two hundred thousand . . . and then let him look 
out.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why, if he went on, they’d just have to close their 
doors. Not only the Casino would be ruined but the Prin- 
cipality. D’ye think they’re goin’ to stand for that?” 

“They could expel him.” 

“What good would that do? He. could put some one 
else on. No, the only way would be to suppress both him 
and his system; and believe me, they won’t stick at half 
measures to do it. I don’t say as they’ll stoop to crime; 
but there’s men in their pay as ain’t so scrupulous. 
There’s the existence of the whole community at stake. 
Accidents can happen. What’s a man’s life compared 
with the ruin of twenty thousand people? Believe me, the 
professor’s playin’ a dangerous game.” 

Hugh left Mr. Gimp sitting on one of the side benches 
still sourly taking down the hated numbers. He mooned 
round the rooms, thinking more of Mrs. Belmire than of 
the play. She had called him naive ; that had hurt his 
vanity. Was he naive?” 

Mrs. Belmire had urged him to go on gambling, but he 
had baulked. Of course, she thought he had plenty of 
money, and that his winnings at roulette meant little to 
him. On the contrary they meant so much to him that he 
was determined to hold on to them at all costs. Of his 
fifty-five thousand five had already melted away. He had 
loaned her two and had spent another two on clothes. 
Perhaps it was the lesson that poverty had taught him in 
his youth, perhaps it was due to his Scottish ancestry, 
but he had a curious streak of prudence in him. He had 
deposited fifty thousand francs in the bank and was de- 
termined not to touch it. 


288 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Since his last spectacular performance at the tables, 
a reaction had set in. He found himself almost in the 
same state of indifference that he had been before he had 
begun to play. His sudden passion for gambling seemed 
to have spent itself, and he wondered how he could ever 
have been so obsessed. 

Fifty thousand francs! Yes, he had been miraculously 
lucky. It seemed like providence. He would buy a car 
and a cottage, and spend his spare time in painting. As 
for Mrs. Belmire, he would tell her just how matters 
stood. But not just yet. Perhaps he would allow her 
to educate him a little first. No more roulette though; 
not even for tobacco money. No opportunities, however 
good, would tempt him. Confound Mrs. Belmire! She 
had said that she was dining that evening with Paul 
Vulning. She had made a point of telling him about it, 
he believed. 

3 . 

He spent three days painting at Cap Ferrat. He 
started early each morning and returned late, drunk with 
fresh air and sunshine. Then on the fourth day he rested 
and found his way in due course to the Casino. Mr. 
Gimp was still replacing MacTaggart. 

“I expect Mac will be on deck again to-morrow,” Mr. 
Gimp said in response to his inquiry. “He can’t afford 
to lie off much longer. You know he’s working on a mere 
two or three hundred francs of capital. He lives on fif- 
teen francs a day. If he don’t make ’em, he goes hungry. 
I know for a fact, lots of nights, he makes a supper of 
dry bread. That’s what’s killing him, — the worry of 
making his day. If he could afford to play with higher 
stakes, say louis instead of five franc pieces, it would be 


THE WHEEL 239 

different. He’s got all kinds of faith in his system; sure 
there’s a fortune in it.” 

“I had no idea he was so short.” 

“Oh, there’s lots like that, — a good front and behind 
it starvation. . . . Just look at that Dago Castelli, — 
there’s a dashing, sporty player if you like.” 

The handsome Italian was playing a brilliant paroli 
game. He played between three tables, putting a louis 
on each of the simple chances. If they were swept away 
he replaced them; if they won he left them on with 
the louis of gain. He continued to leave on stake and 
gains for six wins, then he took them up. This did not 
occur very often; but when it did it netted him thirty- 
two louis. The game was an unusual one, lively, easy to 
play, and interesting. Castelli always played this same 
game, and frequently with great success. That day, how- 
ever, runs of six were rare and his louis were being swept 
away like leaves before the wind. 

Hugh persisted in his decision not to play. He saw 
chance after chance to win, but let them go by. He was 
finished. He turned from the game and watched the play- 
ers. The woman in grey came and went, always throwing 
a louis on number one. He saw her play several times at 
three different tables but without success. After looking 
on awhile, she went slowly away. The latest rumour he 
had heard concerning her was that she was a celebrated 
actress who had recently been acquitted of a case of crime 
passionel. 

As he was wondering who she really was, a curious con- 
versation attracted his attention. A big, ruddy English- 
man was talking to a small shabby individual with a 
blotched face and gold-rimmed spectacles. The little man 
was saying: 


240 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“In six weeks from to-day you will pay me fifteen thou- 
sand francs. To-day I give you thirteen thousand, five 
hundred. That is understood, is it not?” 

“Yes, that is understood.” 

“But what about exchange? If the franc goes down 
in value, you will have gained. In that case you will pay 
me the difference. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, that is understood.” 

The little man took from his note-book a prepared slip 
of paper and the Englishman signed it with a fountain 
pen. The little man counted out thirteen thousand five 
hundred francs in notes and his companion took them, 
and threw a thousand on the first table. He lost, and 
without trying to regain them went off to the private 
rooms. 

Hugh decided to go home. As he was crossing the 
“Hall of Light,” he saw Castelli sauntering in front of 
him. What a handsome chap that Italian was. What a 
favourite he must be with women. He was speaking to 
one now. . . . No, he had turned and was in conversation 
with the chief inspector of the Rooms. After a moment 
they disappeared together through one of the glass doors 
that works with a hidden catch. 

On all sides Hugh heard wonderful accounts of the 
professor. For three days the old man had won seventy 
thousand francs a day. Half the profits of the Casino 
were going into his pocket. It was said the administration 
was becoming desperate. 

4. 

Mr. Jarvis Tope had a source of secret information. 
His landlord was a retired croupier and the two were ex- 
cellent friends. In this way he came to know many mat- 


THE WHEEL 


241 


ters not revealed to the public, and he was very discreet 
about disseminating his information. 

“By the way,” he said to Hugh, “you’ve heard that a 
gang are passing counterfeit louis in Casino money?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, they’ve got one of them at least. In his room 
in Nice they found a suit-case full of it. You’ve probably 
seen the chap.” 

“Who.” 

“His name is Castelli. . . 

“No !” 

“Yes. They got him two days ago, but they have been 
watching him for weeks. Some very sharp person on the 
Casino detective staff noticed that he seemed to have an 
inexhaustible supply of louis. That put them on the track. 
They’ve expelled him from the Principality. Well, that’s 
one worry off their shoulders. Their other one is your 
old friend, the professor. There they’ve got a tough nut 
to crack, I fear.” 

“Do you think they’ll crack it?” 

“Think! I know. A word in your ear. You tell the 
old chap to get out. Get him away in a car, far and fast. 
They’ve simply got to get that system, to get him. You 
understand. If they wish to save themselves from ruin, 
neither he nor his system must continue to exist. They’re 
only waiting now to make sure he’s got them. They can’t 
buy him off. They can’t let him escape. I say, I would- 
n’t be in that old man’s shoes for all the money he’s made. 
Sounds melodramatic, I know. You think I exaggerate. 
You don’t know this place. Get him away, I say. Lose 
no time. Don’t laugh. 1 know. 19 

Hugh was so disturbed that he knocked that night on 
the old man’s door. 


242 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Who’s there?” 

“Your neighbour.” 

There was a turning of locks and the professor ap- 
peared. He had been working out his play for the next 
day. 

“Come in. Do you know I was just coming to see you. 
I want to enter into an arrangement with you.” 

“Yes.” 

“I want protection. Twice I believe my life to have 
been attempted. Twice I have nearly been run down by 
a car. The first time I thought it was accidental, but 
I noticed it was the same car. . ^ 

“You must be mistaken.” 

“I hope so. In any case I want you to accompany me 
to the Casino and back, and to stay with me when I play. 
I’ll pay you anything you like. A thousand francs a day 
if you agree.” 

“I don’t want pay. I’ll be glad to help you.” 

“Ah, I knew I could count on you. But look here, 
young man, I warn you it’s dangerous.” 

“All right. But for your own sake, hadn’t you better 
try to compromise with them?” 

“Never. They’ve already approached me. They said 
they didn’t believe in my system, but were willing to buy 
it. They offered me ten million francs in Casino stock. 
I told them, if they offered me a hundred million, I would 
refuse* They advised me to reconsider my decision. They 
were very courteous, said they were acting in the public 
interest and so on. Oh, they talked smoothly enough, but 
I could see the menace behind. . . . Look here !” 

The professor went to the safe, twirled the combina- 
tion, opened the heavy door and took out a leather bound 
folio. 


THE WHEEL 


243 


“Here it is, the condensed result of all my labours, the 
explanation of my system. It is all in cypher. I want 
you to learn the six different cyphers I use.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, if anything should happen to me, I want you 
to avenge me. All you have to do is to publish this to 
the world. Their ruin will be complete. Hush!” The 
Professor went quickly to the door and threw it open. 
No one was there. 

“I’m getting so nervous. It seems to me I’m watched 
all the time. You’ll promise, won’t you? You’ll be my 
protector, my assistant, my partner? You hesitate. Are 
you afraid?” 

“Afraid ! no.” 

“All right. Will you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Your hand on it. To-morrow we’ll begin.” 


END OF BOOK THREE 





BOOK FOUR 


The Vortex 












CHAPTER ONE 


PROSPEROUS DAYS 

1 . 

“T"\Y Goad!” said MacTaggart, sipping his second 
whiskey, “the auld man’s a wizard. He’s got me 
fair bamboozilt.” 

It was evening, and he and Hugh were sitting in the 
Cafe de Paris. 

“I thocht I knew something o’ roulette, but noo I maun 
jist go back tae Strathbungo and play dominoes. And 
you, young man, wi’ that canny wee smile on yer gub, — 
I’m thinkin’ ye ken mair aboot it than ye want tae tell.” 

Hugh shook his head. 

“No, I can’t grasp it. And yet I’m with the old man 
every day. The scientific explanation of it’s beyond me. 
A mathematical mystery. Your system and all the others 
are based on the laws of average, the equilibrium. It’s a 
calculation of chances, of probabilities. So far so good ! 
The law of average does exist. It’s all rot to say that 
the coup that’s gone has no influence on the one that is 
to come. It has. It’s true that the slots are all the same 
size and so each has an equal claim to the ball, but it is 
because of this equal chance that they will each receive 
it an equal number of times. I’ve seen a number come up 
three times in succession, yet I wouldn’t hesitate to bet 
thirty-five to one, in thousands, that it won’t come up a 
fourth time. Mechanically, maybe it has an equal chance 
with the others, but by the law of average, no.” 

247 


248 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“That’s elementary,” said MacTaggart. 

“Yes, but it’s as deep as the most of us get. We’re all 
in the kindergarten class. We grope vaguely. We 
fumble with probabilities. As far as we go we are 
right; but we don’t go far enough. We reach a point 
where our system breaks down. The law of average is 
too big for us to compress into a formula. In its larger 
workings it eludes us ; we cannot regulate it. Our obser- 
vations of it are too limited.” 

“I’ve got a record of over two hundred thousand con- 
secutive coups ” said MacTaggart. 

“The professor has a record of over two million. The 
amount of work he has done is colossal. He has studied 
the numbers in their relation to one another ; he has clas- 
sified, co-ordinated, condensed. His system is one of cor- 
respondence and elimination. He has used the resources 
of mathematics to put it on a working basis. He has 
gone above and behind all the rest of us. His comprehen- 
sion is larger; he has grasped the wider workings of the 
law of average. He has narrowed down and focussed the 
probability, and reduced the phenomena by the magnitude 
of his calculations to a minimum. The day of the year 
and the hour of the day has a bearing on the application 
of his system. That red note-book of his is full of alge- 
braic formula. By looking at the last dozen numbers that 
have come up and referring to his formulae, he has a hint 
how to play. But even then he is never quite sure. Some- 
times he is only within eight numbers, sometimes within 
four. But that’s good enough. He has been lucky in 
hitting the precise number one time out of three; but 
scientifically speaking he considers he ought to strike it 
only one time out of five.” 


THE VORTEX 


249 


“I’ve seen him strike it every day for the last month. 
He must hae averaged over sixty thoosand francs a day, 
I’m thinkin’. I expect the members o’ the board are losin’ 
lots o’ sleep them days. It’s no’ a question of him win- 
nin’, but how much is he goin’ tae win. They’ve got 
old Bob Bender watchin’ him every time he plays. If it 
wisna that you were everlastingly doin’ the watch dog 
some one would get a graup o’ that wee book he’s forever 
keekin intae. Though I don’t suppose they’d mak’ 
much o’ it, wi’ a’ thae queer, crabbed letters an’ figures. 
I’m sure they’d be gled tae gi’ him a year’s profits 
if he’d stop. Aye, or pay a fortune tae any one that wad 
stop him. But then he’s got you for a bodyguard.” 

“Yes, he never goes out without me.” 

“Aye, ye’re a cautious young man. I’m sometimes 
thinkin’ ye’ve got a touch o’ the Scot in ye. I hope ye’ve 
no’ been an’ squandert that money ye were sae lucky as tae 
win?” 

“No, the most of it’s in the bank. I won’t touch it for 
gambling purposes. In fact, I think I’ve finished.” 

“I’m wishin’ I wis masel’. I’m sick o’ the place, but I 
must stay until I mak’ enough to go home no’ lookin’ like 
a tramp. Ye ken I still believe in ma system.” 

“I tell you what,” said Hugh, “why don’t you play with 
a bigger unit? You play with five franc stakes and you 
make from four to eight pieces every day. Why not in- 
crease your unit to a hundred francs, and then you’ll 
make from four to eight hundred francs a day.” 

“I hav’ nae the capital.” 

“Suppose I lend you a thousand francs.” 

“I micht lose it.” 

“I tell you. ... You play with my thousand francs, 


250 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


playing hundred franc stakes, and I’ll take the risk of 
you losing. When you win you can pay me a quarter of 
your gains.” 

“All right. That’s fair enough. I’ll start to-morrow 
if ye like.” 

Hugh gave MacTaggart a mille note, and every eve- 
ning MacTaggart hunted him up and handed over a 
hundred and sometimes two hundred francs. 

2 . 

For weeks the great system of the professor had been 
successful. His bank book showed a credit of over two 
million francs. Every day accompanied by Hugh, he 
made his triumphal entry into the Casino surrounded by 
an excited and admiring throng. He made no other pub- 
lic appearance and was a storm centre of curiosity. Hugh 
acted as the old man’s manager and saw to it that his 
mystery was preserved. He interviewed reporters, and 
kept off the curious ; for the professor was fast becoming 
a character of international fame. The great press 
agencies chronicled his success ; the great dailies para- 
graphed him ; his portrait graced the picture page of the 
Daily Mail. There were articles about him in the illus- 
trated weeklies; and even the monthly journals devoted 
to science began to consider him seriously. He and 
Hugh were snapshotted a dozen times a day. All the well- 
known roulette players, Speranza, Dr. Ludus, Max Imum 
and Silas Doolittle wrote long letters to the papers diag- 
nosing his famous system. Never had the Casino had such 
advertising — yet it was costing them too much. 

The old man never broke the bank. There was nothing 
sensational about his play. It was almost monotonous in 


THE VORTEX 


251 


its certitude ; it had the air even of a commercial transac- 
tion in which he had come to collect a daily debt. It was 
this cold-blooded, business-like precision that alarmed 
them. It was almost cynical; it seemed to say: “Look 
out. I’m letting you off easy now, but when I proceed 
to tighten up the cinch, God help you.” 

An imaginative reporter had said that Hugh was the 
professor’s nephew, and they both agreed to adopt this 
suggestion. Indeed, as time went on, Hugh himself be- 
gan to think of the old man as a real uncle. At times it 
seemed almost impossible that they were not related. 

Hugh had taken to smoking excellent cigars. Why not? 
MacTaggart was turning in over a thousand a week. He 
felt some compunction in accepting this ; but MacTaggart 
was making three times as much for himself, and was more 
than satisfied. He could well afford to be extravagant in 
other directions as well. There was Mrs. Belmire, for in- 
stance. He took her to dinner a great deal, and out mo- 
toring as well. Apart from that he and Margot still 
lived, in the same simple way. 

One morning as Hugh sat smoking in the professor’s 
den, he observed the old man closely. 

“He’s easily good for another ten years,” he thought. 
“Looks rather like Karl Marx, burly shoulders, clear, 
shrewd eyes. A sane man except for his fanatic obsession 
to down the Casino.” 

The professor interrupted his reflections by saying: 

“My boy, I’ve come to a great decision.” He paused 
impressively. “I’m an old man, and I am afraid that 
death may come on me unawares, my life work unfinished. 
I have decided that you are to carry it on. You shall 
begin where I leave off. I am going to instruct you in the 


252 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


system. You shall take the avenging sword from my 
failing grasp.” 

Hugh made a gesture of protest. “I say, professor, it’s 
awfully good of you. I assure you I’m humbly grateful; 
but really I’m quite unworthy.” 

“I know of no one so worthy.” 

“Oh, no, the honour’s too great. Besides, I’ve made up 
my mind never to play again. A resolution’s a resolution, 
you know.” 

“I know. You have force of will. But think. . . . 
You are not playing for yourself but for humanity. 
Yours will be a mission, the ridding society of a danger- 
ous pest. In destroying the Casino you will be God’s 
avenger.” 

“But, professor, I’m just a common ordinary sort of 
chap. I don’t want to be anybody’s avenger. As for the 
Casino, I don’t bear it any ill will. If I had lost, perhaps 
I might, but it has treated me well. Of course, I know it’s 
a plague spot, a menace to mankind and all that sort of 
thing, but that’s none of my business as far as I can 
see.” 

The professor looked both grieved and shocked. “But 
don’t you want to be a benefactor to mankind? Don’t 
you want to fulfil a great destiny, to be a reformer, the 
leader of a new crusade?” 

“No, professor, I admit with shame I don’t want to be 
any of those things. All I want is to live a quiet life and 
make a comfortable living. There’s a cottage with a 
garden and a second-hand Panhard I have my eye on. 
Between them I can rub along. Then on off days, I’ll 
paint. I’ve just begun to get the feeling of the place, 
and I think I can do good work. But there! You’re not 
an artist. You won’t understand.” 


THE VORTEX 253 

The professor seemed quite crushed. He sat silent and 
thoughtful. Finally he said: 

“No, I’m not an artist. I’m a man of science, and for 
that reason I don’t want to see my life-work lost to the 
world. Well then, if you refuse to be my disciple, will 
you be my trustee? You refuse to play for me, — will you 
see that the system is published after my death? It is a 
contribution to science; at the same time by its divina- 
tion of the laws of chance, it will destroy the spirit of 
gambling. Not only the Casino of Monte Carlo, but 
gambling institutions all over the world will fall. The Ca- 
sino is only an item in my programme. I destroy chance ; 
I replace it with certitude. My work is not complete, but 
others will follow. They will perfect it. Will you then do 
this much for me? Will you see my great work in print ?” 

“Yes, I’ll do that. I promise. But hang it all, pro- 
fessor, you’ve got another thirty years to live.” 

“One never knows. There have been no attempts on 
my life lately, but I must take no chances. I will begin 
now and teach you all there is to know.” 

The professor opened his safe and took from it a thick 
folio bound in limp leather. 

“ Voila ! My treatise. It’s all there, the condensed re- 
sult of the labour of thirty years. The red note-book con- 
tains the application of my system to roulette ; but in this 
folio is the result of all my researches, the scientific ex- 
planation of the invention by which I annihilate chance.. 
Look at it.” 

“But it’s all in cypher.” 

“Yes, all. Not one cypher but many. For the alpha- 
bet alone I have three different sets of characters; for 
the figures, six. You will have to learn over a hundred 
symbols before you can translate this. And these must 


254 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


not be put on paper ; they must be carried in the head. I 
will teach them to you but you must promise never to write 
them. I have protected myself well. Without the cypher 
keys that folio is valueless.” 

So Hugh spent the next few days committing to memory 
the hundred odd cypher characters of the professor’s 
great discovery. 

3 . 

When he was not engaged with the professor, he occu- 
pied most of his time dangling after Mrs. Belmire. She 
had definitely attached him to her train of admirers and 
he had fallen in line, not without a certain ill grace. The 
life she led was at variance with his tastes ; and while he 
submitted to her charm, he was constantly on the point of 
rebellion. He was like a man who chafes at his chains 
but cannot break them. He resented the easy w r ay in 
which she took his homage for granted. There were mo- 
ments when he almost hated her. What rotten luck to fall 
in love with a woman so far beyond and above him ! If it 
had only been June Emslie, or even Margot. But who 
can help these things? In the end he decided to let him- 
self drift, — with a certain regard to the direction of his 
drifting. 

Perhaps Paul Vulning was to some extent responsible 
for his subjection. He detested the man cordially and was 
jealous of the friendship between him and Mrs. Belmire. 
When he saw them together he was possessed by an ir- 
responsible rage and tortured by all sorts of jealous 
imaginings. If it had only been Fetterstein or the old 
General. . . . But Vulning! 

She had not borrowed any money from him lately, al- 
though she was always urging him to play again. The 


THE VORTEX 


255 


last time she had borrowed from him had set him think- 
ing. He had suffered so much from the want of money 
that now he was painfully aware of its value. At all costs 
he was determined to hang on to his fifty thousand francs. 
He would lend her another thousand but no more. That 
was the breaking point, he told himself. 

“In any case,” he thought, “I have only to tell her my 
position and she’ll chuck me ignominiously. She thinks 
I’m a rich somebody. When she learns I’m a poor 
nobody then . . . But I won’t tell her yet awhile. I en- 
joy very much being with her, and undoubtedly I am learn- 
ing a good deal from her. ‘Sophisticating me,’ she calls 
it. Well, I suppose that sort of thing is part of a chap’s 
education. I will have to regard it as a return for the 
money I have lent her, and which, poor thing, I am sure 
she will never return. Confound the woman! I don’t 
know what’s got into me. I can’t get her out of my head.” 

One day he would vow he was finished with her, the next 
he would be crazy to see her again. Even when he 
was with her, his irritation sometimes drove him to the 
point of rebellion. For instance, there was the evening 
that they had supper at the High Life. 

It was she who had suggested that they go there, and 
rather gloomily he had complied. They had gone first to 
the Casino and spent some time in the private room, for 
Mrs. Belmire disdained the ordinary one. After watching 
the play for awhile she had suggested : 

“Why don’t you try your luck? It’s stupid to look on 
and not risk anything.” 

“No, thanks, I don’t care to.” 

“Oh, come on. You always win. Even if you lose, what 
do a few thousands matter to you when you have won 
so enormously? Even I saw you.” 


256 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


He sighed gloomily. 

“Yes, you saw me win but — you didn’t see me lose.” 

“Of course, poor boy, I know one can’t always win. If 
you won’t play, give me some money and I’ll play for you.” 

He took a hundred franc note from his pocket and 
handed it to her. She looked at it with a surprised con- 
tempt that nettled him. As if it were dirt she threw it on 
the first table. Of course it was swept away. 

“There!” she said pettishly, “that’s gone. Well, it*s 
no use staying here if we don’t play. It’s tiresome. Let’s 
go where there’s music and dancing.” 

They went to the High Life, a place he disliked. It 
had a rakehell atmosphere, and suggested debauch. He 
also resented the obvious fact that she was quite at home 
there. 

“Faugh! a den of gilded corruption!” he was thinking, 
when an insinuating head-waiter presented a wine card 
and suggested a certain expensive brand of champagne. 

“I know it’s the kind madam prefers,” he murmured. 

“Do order a bottle,” said Mrs. Belmire carelessly. 

Hugh ordered, and at her further suggestion he de- 
manded a homard American ; the bill came to two hun- 
dred francs. He was annoyed. 

“Damned robbers,” he thought. “Well, they won’t get 
ahead of me on the champagne. I’ll finish the bottle.” 

As he drank the place became more and more cheerful. 
He felt very strong and very playful. He clutched Mrs. 
Belmire’s arm ; once even he pinched her cheek and called 
her Marion. She looked at him curiously. There is no 
spying to what further indiscretions his exhilaration 
might have prompted him, had not there at that moment 
occurred the episode of the Nouveau Riche and the Sick 
Soldier. 


THE VORTEX 


257 


4 . 

The Nouveau Riche was all a nouveau riche should be, 
big, bloated and boastful. He had been a cobbler before 
the war, but had made a fortune in shoe contracts. The 
Soldier should never have been there at all. Some friends, 
however, had dragged him in; and he sat looking thin, 
pale, and wretchedly out of place. 

The Nouveau Riche was playfully emptying a bottle of 
champagne over a small palm tree. The manager ex- 
postulated. It was doubtful if palms, however thirsty, 
would appreciate the virtue of Chateau Margaux, but the 
Nouveau Riche waved him aside. 

u Put your damned palm on the bill,” he said, “and 
bring me a fresh bottle.” He was proceeding to pour this,, 
too, on the unfortunate plant when the Sick Soldier 
sprang up. 

“I’ve had enough,” he cried, and his black eyes 
flashed in his white face. He wrenched the bottle from 
the man’s hand. “You swine, you! Where I come from 
there are men who would give their heart’s blood for a 
mouthful of that wine you’re wasting like filthy water.” 

The Nouveau Riclic got purple in the face; the Soldier 
was gripping the loose flesh of his throat and pouring the 
rest of the champagne over his head. 

“Here you sit and swill and guzzle,” he went on, “while 
my comrades out there in the desert are dying from hunger 
and thirst. In Syria . . . Yes, I come from Syria where 
we crawled on our bellies on the sand, crawled to the water 
tanks to steal a few precious drops and were shot for it 
like mad dogs. We buried a dead horse and dug it up a 
week later and ate it. Half of us died in agony, the rest 
are wrecks — like me. And now when I see a pig like you 


258 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


squandering and wasting, and think of my pals out there, 
suffering, starving, panting with thirst, I tell you it makes 
me sick. . . . Oh, if I only had you out there, you rotten 
hog . . 

There seemed every prospect of a row, but the Man 
from Syria suddenly collapsed and his friends led him 
away. 

“This is a beastly hole,” said Hugh abruptly. “Let’s 
get out of it.” 

There was something hard and cynical in Mrs. Bel- 
mire’s laugh as she replied: “Why should we? I think 
it’s rather amusing.” 

“Amusing!” he retorted savagely. “You seem to think 
of nothing but being amused. One would think you lived 
for amusement.” 

“Why, so I do, I believe. What better is there to live 
for? What do you live for?” 

As he could not think of any worthy object that in- 
spired his life he did not reply, and they sat in silence. 
Their drive home was silent also, but at the door of the 
Pension Pizzicato she held his hand. 

“We haven’t quarrelled, have we?” 

“No, why?” 

“You’re so queer. Not a bit nice. I say, won’t you 
come up to my room and smoke a cigarette? It’s so late 
we can slip upstairs without meeting any one.” 

An instinct of danger warned him. At the moment, 
too, she really repelled him. 

“No, I’m tired. I want to go home.” 

But she still held his hand with a soft pressure. 

“Can’t I coax you? Please come. There’s something 
very important I want to talk to you about.” 

“What is it? Can’t you tell me here?” 


THE VORTEX 


259 


“Yes, but ... I was thinking about that man who 
spilled the champagne. Of course, he was an awful brute, 
but what heaps of money he must have. What a nuisance 
money is! It’s so sordid and yet one’s just got to have 
it.” 

He knew what was coming. 

“I say, you’re the best pal I’ve got here. I don’t know 
what I’d do without you. I’m in awful difficulties. Debts 
all round. Horrid people keep pressing me to pay their 
wretched bills. Oh, I’m only a lonely, unprotected 
woman. . . 

Here Mrs. Belmire began to cry. 

“Can’t you lend me ten thousand francs, dear boy?” 

“No.” 

He was surprised at the explosive vehemence of his- 
tone. The lady was even more surprised. Her tears 
ceased suddenly. With a kind of pained dignity she drew 
herself up. 

“Good night,” she said icily and then turning sharply, 
left him alone with the sea and the stars. 


CHAPTER TWO 


A. BURGLAR AND A ROW 

1 . 

W HEN he got home he found Margot was still up. 

She was sewing under the lamp-glow, her coiled 
mass of hair a bright-gold as she bent over her 
work, her face pale but full of patient sweetness. As 
Hugh stood there in his evening dress, flushed and reeking 
of wine, the eyes she raised to him were tired and sad. 

Since the time she had met him with Mrs. Belmire there 
had been a change in her manner towards him. No longer 
did she make timid overtures of friendship, no longer tell 
him of the day’s doings. She had ceased to laugh and 
sing, and had become very quiet and reserved. She toiled 
continually with her needle. 

It always irritated him to see her working so hard ; and 
to-night, being in a bad humour, he said crossly: “Not in 
bed yet! You’ll hurt your eyes, you know.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m just going. I stayed up because I 
wanted to see you about something.” 

“Yes, w r hat?” 

“I’ve managed to make two hundred francs by my sew- 
ing. I don’t want to be a burden on you any longer. I’m 
going back to Paris to work in an atelier. I’m going to- 
morrow morning.” 

He was quite taken aback. He stared for a moment; 
then a steady, serious look came into his eyes. Going 
forward he took her hand firmly. 

260 ~ 


THE VORTEX 


261 


“Do you really mean that?” 

“Yes. I’ve been planning it for some time.” 

“And you haven’t said anything.” 

“I scarcely ever see you now. You’re so busy during 
the day and get home so late at night.” 

He hesitated, staring thoughtfully at the lamp flame. 
His emotions were conflicting. Here was a chance to free 
himself from all responsiblity regarding her. Sooner or 
later the separation would have to come, why not now 
while she was reconciled to it? Quickly he made up his 
mind. 

“Look here, Margot, don’t go . . . not just yet. Stay 
at least a little while longer. I’ve got so used to you. I’ll 
miss you awfully. Please stay, won’t you?” 

“But what’s the good of staying?” 

“I don’t know. I just feel I can’t let you go. I know 
I’m asking a selfish thing, but please don’t leave me 
just yet.” 

“Very well.” 

“You’ll stay? Thank you. You’re a good little pal. 
The best of the lot. Good-night. . . .” 

The following day his mood changed. His mind was 
full of Mrs. Belmire again. After all, he thought, he had 
been rather rough. He would lend her the money; he 
would seek her out that very afternoon. 

Then an event occurred that changed the whole current 
of his thoughts. 

2 . 

For two days Monte Carlo had been at the mercy of 
the Mistral. Many strange ships were sheltering in the 
narrow harbour that with its concrete arms fended back 


262 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


the savage seas ; the palms in the gardens lashed furiously 
and the air was full of flying splinters. 

All that morning the sky had been gloomy and towards 
noon the clouds over the Tete du Chien deepened to a 
purple black. The mountain seemed to cast a sinister 
shadow over the Condamine, and the pink roofs darkened 
to a dull crimson. Hugh suggested to the professor that 
they had better stay at home, but the old man insisted 
upon going to the Rooms. As they left the house they 
heard the first ominous growl of the thunder. Hugh 
wanted to take a carriage but again his companion 
refused. 

“No,” he said, “the walk to and from the Casino is the 
only exercise I get since that balcony business.” 

The business of the balcony had been a bad one. Across 
the front of the house, just outside their windows, ran a 
flimsy wooden balcony, with a division of lattice work be- 
tween each room. The professor used to march up and 
down his portion of the balcony, while Hugh and Margot 
often sat in theirs. 

One Sunday evening they were all on the balcony when 
they heard a crack, followed by a rending crash. As it 
happened both Hugh and Margot were near the window, 
and threw themselves backwards. The professor, too, 
saved himself by clutching at the sill of his window. The 
entire balcony collapsed. It overturned, hung for a mo- 
ment, then fell with a rending of timbers. On examining 
the debris Hugh found that the supports had been sawn 
almost through, and that the cuts were quite fresh. Some 
one had evidently done it during the night. 

A week later when Hugh was returning home after mid- 
night a man rushed past him on the stairs. On the land- 
ing beside his door a pungent smok» was coming from a 


THE VORTEX 


263 


sack of shavings. Beside it was a large can of petrol. 
He beat out the fire. Had he arrived five minutes later the 
place would have been in flames. After that he got some 
ropes, so that in the case of future attempts to fire the 
place, they might escape by the windows. He also bought 
a Browning pistol. 

That morning, as they entered the Casino, there was a 
livid blaze of lightning, followed almost immediately by a 
crash of thunder. Perhaps the professor was affected by 
the storm, for his game was not so successful as usual ; he 
played seven coups before he struck a winning number. 
Though his winnings were only thirty thousand francs, he 
decided that he had had enough and rose from the table. 
They heard the roar of the rain on the great dome above 
them, and found on going to the entrance a most appalling 
downpour. It was falling in crystal rods that beat the 
oozing earth to bubbles. There was not a soul in sight. 

“It’s useless trying to get a cab,” said Hugh. “Let 
\is go back to the atrium and wait till it clears up.” 

They took a seat on one of the benches at the side of 
the refreshment bar and waited for an hour without any 
sign of the torrent abating. Every now and then Hugh 
would go to the door and look out. The day had darkened 
to a wan twilight in which the silver shafts of rain pearled 
the pools an,d rivulets. 

“One might as well stand under a shower-bath as go out 
in that,” thought Hugh. “It would be the death of the 
professor.” And again he sighed for a voiture. 

As he looked out for the tenth time he saw Margot 
making her way to the Casino through sheets of water. 
She wore his Burberry and the rain ran off her in streams. 
She was panting and pale w T ith excitement. 

“What’s the matter?” 


264 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Oh, I’m so glad I’ve found you. When the professor 
came back alone, I was afraid something was wrong.” 

“Professor come back alone! . . . what do you mean?” 

“Why, he’s there, in his room. When I heard him come 
up the stairs and enter, I went to see if you were there, too. 
As I knocked at the door, I heard him moving about in- 
side. I knocked again, but there was no answer. All 
was quiet. What with the storm and everything else I 
got nervous and excited. After knocking a couple of 
times more I came here to find you.” 

Hugh listened with growing amazement. 

“Are you quite sure there’s some one in the professor’s 
room?” 

“Yes, yes !” 

Leading her into the atrium he pointed to the buffet. 

“There’s the professor.” 

“But the other . . . the man in the house . . • 
now. . . .” 

“Stay with the professor. Don’t leave him. This looks 
serious.” 

Without waiting for the coat she held out to him, he 
rushed into the rain and down the long steep hill, splash- 
ing through water and mud. In a few minutes, drenched 
and breathless, he reached the house. He mounted the 
stairs softly, pistol in hand. Whoever had entered had 
left the door on the latch. He burst into the room. 

A man who had been bending over the steel safe rose 
and swung around. 

“Don’t shoot,” he said sharply. He stood there, erect, 
composed, smiling. 

“Krantz !” 

“Precisely. What a pity you did not come ten minutes 
later. Then I should have finished my investigations.” 


THE VORTEX 265 

“Your burglary, you mean. I’ve a good mind to call 
the police.” 

“My dear man, I am the police.” 

“I am justified in shooting you.” 

“If you did, you would surely regret it. Remember, 
young man, you’re not in England, you’re not in France ; 
you’re in Monaco.” 

“Does that justify you ?” 

“When the welfare of our beloved Principality is at 
stake, I am justified in many things, — even in the examina- 
tion of private strong boxes.” 

“Assassination too, I suppose.” 

“Oh no ! I draw the line at that. In the Principality 
we strongly disapprove of all violent measures.” 

“What about the balcony, and the attempt to fire 
the house?” 

“I assure you, on my honour, I had nothing to do with 
either. Of course, I am unable to answer for the zeal of 
my subordinates. They are Monegasques and patriots. 
You can understand their point of view. They believe 
that one man’s life weighs as nothing against the welfare 
of the community. They would willingly sacrifice their 
lives for their country; but they prefer to sacrifice some 
one else’s life. They are a crude and violent race. You 
must excuse their ardour.” 

“So you know nothing of those two attempts.” 

“Officially, no. Of course, privately I have my ideas. I 
did not go into the matter very closely. You see I have a 
sense of delicacy, of tact. I am modern in my concep- 
tions ; I deprecate the gentle art of assassination. But 
again I repeat I am not responsible for the excessive zeal 
of my subordinates. They are just grown up children, 
many of them, passionate and impulsive. In the same way 


266 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


those whom I serve are not responsible for mj acts, — this 
investigation, for instance. In fact, I am sure they would 
condemn it in the strongest of terms. Abuse of authority, 
they w T ould call it, and wax duly indignant. But please 
put away that silly little pistol you are fingering so ner- 
vously. It annoys me. I have no sense of the dramatic.” 

Hugh lowered his hand and Krantz went on with his 
urbane smile: 

“You know I saved all your lives on one occasion. One 
of my gentle patriots wanted to put a charge of dynamite 
under your rooms and blow you to the stars. Fortunately 
I found out in time, and prevented it. After all it would 
have caused a great scandal. Violence and scandal we 
do not like; we want everything to run smoothly in this 
most favoured of spots. That’s what I’m here for, — to 
see that things run smoothly. That is why a moment ago 
you found me attempting the combination of that safe. 
And now having failed in my mission, I presume you 
will allow me to go.” 

With that Krantz made a deep bow and passed from 
the room. Hugh stared after his retreating back as he 
leisurely descended the narrow stairway. 

3. 

Now that Hugh’s gambling fever had abated he found 
himself looking at the players with apathy, even with dis- 
gust. He was purged, not by loss, but by gain. The 
thought of the fifty thousand francs he had wrested from 
the bank was like honey to him. Never would he give 
them a chance to win it back. The Casino itself had 
also ceased to interest him. Incidents that had been at 
first exciting, now appeared monotonous. The human 


THE VORTEX 


267 


debris no longer fascinated him. The spectacle of the 
squirming, scrabbling mob bored him. The systematizers 
with their fatuous convictions aroused his contempt; the 
besotted votaries of the game, his pity. More than all he 
hated the careless rich who squandered in an idle hour 
what would have kept many a widow from misery and 
many an orphan from shame. 

More than ever he thought of that little cottage at 
Villefranche, between the silent mountains and the dreamy 
sea; and of that Panhard he was going to buy at a bar- 
gain price. He confided his discontent to the professor. 

“Pm getting awfully fed up with Monte. We can’t go 
on indefinitely. Isn’t it time that you speeded up the sys- 
tem a little?” 

“You are right,” sighed the professor, “but it fatigues 
me so, and the atmosphere of the Rooms aggravates my 
catarrh. Why will you not play? You are well in- 
structed now.” 

“I don’t want to. As I said before, I don’t hate the 
Casino. While I wouldn’t move a finger to prevent their 
ruin, I wouldn’t go out of my way to accomplish it. Then 
again, if I played, I should want to play for myself, not 
for society. To hell with society ! It never did anything 
for me. Up to now I’ve had to fight and struggle. It is 
by sheer luck that I’ve got a little working capital and I 
mean to make the most of it. I’m only a selfish practical 
individual. I’ve no consuming wish to benefit mankind, 
to do the ‘leave the world better than I found it,’ sort of 
thing. If ever I have enough to keep me in modest com- 
fort, I’ll stop work and spend my time painting. No, I 
fear I’m no philanthropist. . . . How much do you want 
to win for your schemes before you proceed to give the 
Casino the final knock out?” 


268 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Fifty million.” 

“And we have only ten. Heigh ho ! I tell you I don’t 
think I can stick it out.” 

“I quite understand. Try to endure it two weeks more 
and then we’ll see.” 

Hugh continued to accompany the professor and to 
watch him with monotonous certainty make his seventy 
or eighty thousand francs a day. His association with 
the old man had made him quite a celebrated character. 
He shone with a reflected radiance, a moon to the old 
man’s sun. He was supposed to be a partner, a sharer 
in the colossal ’fortune, the professor’s heir and successor. 

Many of the players were leaving Monte Carlo, for 
the season was over. Mr. Tope had returned to his Kent- 
ish cottage and his roses. The Calderbrooks, not being 
able to afford the mountains, had convinced themselves 
that Monte was even more charming in summer than in 
winter. The father looked tired, but amiably acquiesced. 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we don’t promise 
to stay. If we have a bit of luck at the tables, we might 
take a month or two at Chamounix.” 

The tall Brazilian with the spade-shaped beard was still 
a dominating figure in the Rooms. He wore great, horn- 
rimmed spectacles of a yellowish colour and walked up 
and down in an impeccable costume of white serge, his 
hands behind his back, his carriage that of deliberate dig- 
nity. He looked at the women harder than was necessary, 
though he repulsed all their efforts to speak with him. 
Once Hugh saw him turn to stare at the tall female in 
grey. In spite of the growing heat she continued to wear 
her veil and remained as mysterious as ever. She came 
less frequently, but still seemed to have lots of money. 

Of the old crowd there remained only MacTaggart and. 


THE VORTEX 269 

Mr. Gimp and they made their exit from the scene in a 
very sensational manner. 

4. 

As MacTaggart had already paid him two thousand 
francs, Hugh insisted on cancelling the debt between them. 
MacTaggart was over eight thousand francs ahead, and 
continued to play with hundred franc counters. Curi- 
ously enough, his luck began to leave him as soon as he 
gambled entirely for himself. 

“It’s fair playin’ auld Harry wi’ ma nerves,” he said. 
“The ither day I near fented at the table. After a’ they 
years, I’m thinkin’, I’ll hea tae gie it up. Ma system’s 
willin’ but the flesh is w T eak. I’m gettin’ that every time I 
put a stake on the table ma hert dings like an alarm clock. 
An’ ma temper. I don’t know whit I’m no’ capable o’ 
daein’ at times. It’s as if I had a kind o’ a brain-storm. 
There’s whiles I’m fair feart for masel’. I often think 
that if I wis once mair back in ma wee shop in Strath- 
bungo, I’d never want tae see a roulette wheel for the 
rest o’ ma days.” 

“What kind of a shop had you?” 

“Im a taxidermist, and though I say it masel’, there’s 
no’ a better. It’s a nice quiet trade, soothin’ tae the 
nerves. That’s whit’s the matter wi’ me, ma nerves.” 

MacTaggart would probably have stayed until he had 
lost all his gains, had not a kindly fate stepped in and 
settled the matter for him. 

He had been playing for three hours, — losing all the 
time. His head ached, his nerves were raw, his temper 
near to the breaking point. He wanted to smoke a ciga- 
rette in the atrium, but had to leave some one to take 
down his numbers. Beside him was a lady who was play- 


270 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


ing occasionally. She looked hot and very tired. Mac- 
Taggart asked her if she would mind occupying his seat 
for half an hour. She gladly consented, and he rose to 
give her the place. At the same moment, a red, trucu- 
lent-looking Englishman on his other side, quickly put a 
louis on the table in front of MacTaggart. 

“I claim the place,” he said sharply. 

MacTaggart turned and glared at him. “But I’m givin’ 
the place tae the leddy,” he said. 

“The place is mine,” said the man. “You rose and I 
put down my money. I appeal to the Chef du Table.” 

The latter nodded. “By all the rules the place is 
monsieur’s; monsieur has put down his money, marking 
the place.” 

MacTaggart was angry. He knew the croupiers did 
not like him, that they always decided against him if pos- 
sible. He sat down again. 

“All right,” he said, “in that case I’ll jist keep ma place. 
I’ll sit here till Hell freezes over before ye get it.” 

The face of the Englishman grew very red. His voice 
rose nastily. 

“But I insist on having the place. This man rose and 
I put my money down. The place is clearly mine.” 

“Yes,” said the Chef du Table, “it is evident that the 
place is monsieur’s.” 

“I’ll see ye dawmed firrst,” said MacTaggart, sitting 
square. “There’s no force in Monte Carlo ’ill budge me 
from this spot. Tak’ awaw yer dirrty money. . . .” 

He started to push away the man’s louis that lay in 
front of him. 

“Here, don’t touch my money. Don’t dare to touch 
my money,” the Englishman exclaimed. 

MacTaggart’s reply was to take the louis and flip it 


THE VORTEX 


271 ' 


back at him. Every one was aghast. It vas unheard of, 
an outrage. One of the lymphatic lackeys recovered the 
money and handed it to its owner, who was boiling over 
with rage. There is no knowing how the row might have 
ended had not a player opposite risen to catch a train, 
and the Chef, with great presence of mind, promptly 
claimed the place for the Englishman. The situation was 
saved. Tant Mieux. That mad Ecossais looked quite 
dangerous. 

MacTaggart and the red-faced man sat opposite each 
other, and muttered, growled, and glared. Then the sec- 
ond incident occurred. Just as the ball was about to drop, 
MacTaggart pushed a placque to the croupier. 

“Passe, please.” 

But the croupier did not hear him correctly and threw 
it on pair, and at that moment the ball fell. 

“ Vingt sept, passe impair et noir ” 

“But I telt ye tae pit it on passe,” said MacTaggart. 

“No, monsieur said pair,” declared the croupier. 

The Chef was appealed to. “Monsieur should have 
seen that his money was rightly staked,” said the Chef 
looking annoyed. 

“Pay me,” cried MacTaggart, rising and clenching his 
fist. 

He was ignored and the ball started for the next spin. 
Then MacTaggart did something unprecedented, some- 
thing outrageous. He took up one of the rateaus and 
jammed it in the bowl of the wheel. 

“By Goad,” said MacTaggart, “I’ll stop the bloody 
game till ye pay me.” 

At this moment the red faced man came in to the dis- 
cussion. “I knew he was a crook,” he jeered. “Turn the 
beggar out.” 


272 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


MacTaggart stared at him. For a moment he could 
not believe his ears, then a great glow came into his 
eyes and he swung the rateau and brought it down on the 
man’s head. 

“Let me get at him,” he roared, “I’ll show him.” 

The Chef laid a detaining hand on his shoulder, but 
MacTaggart swung round and caught him on the chin. 
The Chef went from his high chair like a ninepin. Shout- 
ing something in Gaelic, MacTaggart sprang on the table. 
Two croupiers tried to hold him back; but, using the 
rateau like a claymore, he rapped each on the head and 
with a leap was on the man with the red face. 

“Turn me oot !” he shouted. “It wad tak a dizzen o’ 
the likes o’ you tae dae it.” 

He had the big man down and was pounding him with 
both fists, when four of the lethargic lackeys threw them- 
selves into the fray. MacTaggart saw red. He ran 
amuck. Right and left he struck in Berserker rage. His 
long arms were like flails before which men went down; 
croupiers, attendants, inspectors, all staggered back be- 
neath his blows. A superintendent who ran up to see what 
was wrong, received a punch that landed him on his back. 
As MacTaggart burst through the doorway into the “Hall 
of Gloom,” the director of the games rushed up. 

“Look out,” said the big Scotchman, “or as sure as my 
name’s Galloway MacTaggart I’ll fell ye tae the floor.” 

The director did not look out and was duly downed. 
Then a group of lackeys, by a concerted rush, succeeded 
in mastering him. They knocked him down and hung onto 
his heaving arms and legs. They lifted him to carry him 
to the door. The MacTaggart was conquered. 

But was he? No, not yet. From the other end of the 
“Hall of Light” a shrill yell suddenly split the air. It 


THE VORTEX 


273 


was something between the execration of a college football 
coach, and the war whoop of a red Indian. A little white- 
haired gentleman was covering the intervening space in 
great leaps and bounds. He roared and whirled his arms, 
his eyes aflame, his very hair bristling with fury. It was 
Mr. Gimp. 

The attendants released MacTaggart, and turned to 
face this new foe. The fight began all over again. 

It was Homeric, for Mr. Gimp had once been a bantam 
champion of the ring. There were bloody noses and 
broken teeth; there were curses and cries of pain; there 
were black eyes and bruised ribs before the indomitable 
two, overwhelmed by numbers, were carried to the door. 
The fray had lasted a quarter of an hour. 

“Weel,” said MacTaggart that night as they sat in 
Quinto’s, “I’m thinkin’, Gimpy, auld man, we’ve lost oor 
tickets. We’ll no’ daur show oor faces in that place ony 
mair.” 

“No,” said Mr. Gimp, “the spell’s broken at last. I’m a 
free man. To-morrow I’m off to the land where the hand- 
shake’s warmer.” 

“An’ me fur Strathbungo. Eh, man, they got us oot, 
but it took a score o’ them tae dae it. An’ by Goad! we 
laft oor mark on every mither’s son.” 


CHAPTER THREE 


TEMPTATION 


1 . 

H UGH continued to be haunted by thoughts of 
Mrs. Belmire. At times he felt he would throw 
up everything to follow her; at others he con- 
signed her to the devil. He had resolved to let her make 
the first advance and carefully avoided meeting her. 

One day on returning home, Margot handed him an 
envelope bearing the initials M. B. He was not altogether 
pleased and put it in his pocket until he should be alone. 
He tore it open later and read : 

“ How could I be so horrid to you the last time we met? 
Can you forgive me enough to meet me this evening at 
Giro's at ten o'clock? It will probably be adieu. I am 
leaving for Vichy on Friday .” 

The humility of the note touched him. She had put 
herself in the wrong. Nothing like a show of indifference 
with women, he thought. His vanity was flattered. A 
sentiment of generosity akin to tenderness glowed in him. 
Quite eagerly he awaited the evening. 

She arrived a little late, wearing a very exquisite eve- 
ning gown. She rightly believed that her shoulders and 
arms added to her charm. She took his hand in a firm, 
good-fellow grip. As she sat down he was conscious of 
the perfume she affected. She seemed to him to be stun- 
ning, the real thing, a femme de luxe . 

274 


THE VORTEX 


275 


Her manner was subdued to the point of mournfulness. 
It was one of her favourite moods and was in harmony 
with the melancholy of the restaurant. The orchestra 
played dispiritedly. Two teams of professional dancers 
shimmied in a forlorn fashion. Even the waiters looked 
listless. 

“This place will be closing soon,” she sighed. “Monte 
is dying. All the right sort have gone already. I feel 
almost like a derelict. I’m bored to the verge of tears. 
For God’s sake do something to console me. Buy me a 
bottle of Cliquot.” 

When the waiter brought it in its silver bucket of ice, 
the bottle looked very comforting. As they sipped, she 
grew more cheerful. 

“Thank goodness I’m going. I say, why don’t you 
come, too? Do the giddy round, — Paris for the Grand 
Prix, Deauville, Biarritz, — one meets the same crowd at 
all these places, the world that lives to enjoy itself. Let’s 
enjoy ourselves.” 

“I don’t belong to that world. I’m a quiet chap. I 
want a quiet life.” 

“And I — I want a gay one. But I’m lonely. God! at 
times I’m so lonely, I could shoot myself or get drunk. 
I say, let’s get drunk to-night.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“Yes, I suppose I am. But that’s just how I feel. I 
don’t know why. Perhaps its because I won’t see you 
again. Oh, I say, — be a priceless darling. Do come.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. He felt her power, the 
melting appeal of her eyes, the caress of her hand. Pas- 
sion was invading him. He wanted to seize' her, crush her, 
hurt her. “Why not,” he thought, “a month of that gay 
life! It would cost a good deal, but perhaps it would be 


276 THE POISONED PARADISE 

worth it. A delirious month. . . .” Then he heard him- 
self saying: 

“No, it’s no use. I can’t go.” 

She stamped her foot pettishly. The spell was broken. 
After a little she resumed : 

“Well, if you won’t come with me, you won’t refuse to 
help me. I’m in debt all round. I owe quite a lot of 
money to the pension, too. I don’t know how much. I 
have no head for figures. I’m like a child in financial 
matters. I say, dear boy, you’ll lend me a bit, won’t you? 
I’ve counted on you, you know.” 

He winced. His lips tightened. 

“How much?” 

“Oh, a little bunch of milles. Ten or twenty will do. 
What does it matter to you? You’re rich. You’re 
making millions. You’re not stingy, are you?” 

He felt the time had come for an explanation. “Look 
here,” he said, “you’re all wrong. You assumed from 
the start I was a somebody and had something. I’m 
really a nobody and I have nothing. You might even call 
me an adventurer. I came here broken in health and prac- 
tically penniless. Now I am strong and fit again. And 
I have some money, fifty thousand francs, which I man- 
aged to wrench from the Casino. That’s all I’ve got, I 
swear it. I’m not mean, but I’ve known bitter poverty 
and don’t want to know it again.” 

She was looking at him in sheer amazement. He warmed 
to his subject, and spoke with a gusto that was almost 
malicious. 

“That money means life to me. It means a home, a 
chance to make a living by healthy, agreeable work. I’m 
going to buy a car. Next year if you’re here and you 
see me standing in line waiting for a job, you can hire 


THE VORTEX 


277 


me. Now you know me. That’s the sort I am, a penniless 
adventurer. I should have told you before, but I enjoyed 
being with you so much that I postponed the confession. 
Well, that’s over any way. And now what are you going 
to do?” 

For a full minute she was speechless. Then she said 
breathlessly : 

“But you are making millions, you and that old man. 
Every one knows it. You are partners. . . 

“No, not partners. I never touch a sou of what he 
makes.” 

“But . . . he’s like a father to you. He’ll give you 
anything you want. A million if you ask. I am sure.” 

“I don’t intend to ask.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Belmire. 

“No, I don’t think you do; I don’t think you can. I’m 
sorry, but . . . Hullo ! there’s that fellow Vulning. By 
Jove! he’s coming in here. Drunk as a tinker, too, I’ll 
swear.” 

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. She sat silent, 
her chin propped on her hands, staring into vacancy with 
stormy, Scornful eyes. Yes, she was lovely. Now that 
he had told her everything he was half sorry. She was 
lost to him. She would turn on him presently, and call 
him a most unmerciful bounder. Well, he deserved it. He 
waited. He felt sorry for her, she seemed so bowled over. 
Then suddenly she turned to him, fixing him w r ith an in- 
tense gaze. 

“I counted on you. Oh, how I counted on you !” 

Tears and reproach were in her voice. At that mo- 
ment he almost yielded, almost promised her the money. 
Even as he hesitated, his attention was attracted by Paul 
Vulning. 


278 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Vulning was standing at the bar. He was dressed in a 
golfing suit and looked as if he had been on a long de- 
bauch. His face was puffy and muddily red, his cheeks 
and chin bristly; his eyes fishy when they were not wild. 
He stared round the room, and recognized Mrs. Belmire, 
but he did not notice Hugh. 

“Hullo! Marion,” he cried. “Come on, old girl, and 
have a Scotch.” 

She did not pay any attention, but continued to brood, 
her chin in her cupped hands. He shouted once more. 

“Here, don’t be haughty. You weren’t always too 
proud to drink at a bar. Well, I’ll come over and join 
you.” 

Carrying his glass unsteadily, he made his way towards 
them. 

“Brute !” said Hugh. 

“Don’t take any notice of him,” said Mrs. Belmire con- 
temptuously. “He’s always beastly when he’s in that 
state.” 

Vulning halted. 

“Excuse me. Didn’t notice you had a fellow. Never 
mind. We’re all pals here, ain’t we?” 

He sat down unsteadily. “All pals. . . . Damn you!” 

He had suddenly recognized Hugh, and he bent forward 
with a snarl like that of an angry dog. 

“You bloody whipper-snapper. . . . Bah!” 

Hugh restrained himself with difficulty, and sat tense. 
The frown on Mrs. Belmire’s face deepened. Vulning’s 
snarl gradually relaxed to a sneer. He meant mischief. 

“You’re looking rippin’ to-night, Marion. ’Pon my 
soul I never saw you looking so stunning.” 

He put out a rather dirty hand and patted her white 
shoulder. She drew back. 


THE VORTEX 


279 


“Don’t touch me, you beast !” 

Hugh broke in tempestuously. “Don’t do that again, 
you dog, or I’ll knock you down.” 

Vulning gave a sneering laugh, then suddenly grew 
fierce. 

“Why shouldn’t I do it if I choose? What’s it got to 
do with you, you young whelp? What can you do?” 

“I can make you respect a lady in my presence.” 

“Respect ! Lady 1” Vulning burst into a roar of 
laughter. “That a lady! That! Why, man, she’s been 
my mistress. She’s been the mistress of a dozen men I 
know. She’s anybody’s woman. Respect! Her! Oh 
you young fool! You poor flat. . . . Ach \ ” 

He choked. Hugh had clutched him by the collar and 
was shaking him savagely. Vulning struck out wildly, but 
Hugh hurled him to the floor and stood over him. 

“Come on,” said Mrs. Belmire wearily, “I’m going.” 

She went to the door alone, pulling her cloak over her 
dazzling shoulders. Hugh hesitated, then followed her. 

“I’d better see you home,” he said. 

“Home !” she laughed bitterly. “I had a home once. I 
don’t suppose I’ll ever have another.” 

“Was it true? What he said?” 

Her voice was hard, scornful. “Yes, all true. What 
would you? I must live. I was brought up to do noth- 
ing. My husband died leaving me only his debts. Try to 
understand ! Put yourself in my place. Men are brutes. 
A woman must prey or be preyed on. You are the first 
decent, clean man I’ve met since . . . oh, ever so long. 
And you’ve never suspected? . . .” 

“No, I didn’t think that of you. I suppose it was be- 
cause I didn’t want to think it. I thought you were fool- 


280 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


ish, worldly, of limited means but straight, quite straight. 
I swear I did.” 

“And now that you know you will never see me again ?” 

“I don’t know. I must think it out. We have both been 
deceived in the other.” 

“Yes, we must both think it out. Here’s the pension. 
Good-night.” 

“Good-night.” 

2 . 

Two days later Hugh persuaded the professor to play 
more rapidly, with the result that in less than two hours 
the old man had won nearly two hundred thousand francs. 
The effort exhausted him and he retired to his bed for 
the day. He intended to repeat the performance the next 
morning. 

When Hugh returned, he found Margot laying the table 
for lunch. He noticed that her hands trembled. Though 
quiet and reserved as always, she had a strange sullen set 
to her mouth and a resentful look in her eyes. Presently 
she said: 

“A lady came to see you this morning.” 

“A lady ? Here ! Who was it ?” 

“A haughty English lady, — with dyed hair.” 

With some annoyance Hugh applied this description to 
Mrs. Belmire. 

“What did she say?” 

“I did not let her in. She took me for the domestic. I 
was scrubbing the kitchen and not very tidy. I said you 
were out and I had not the faintest idea when you would 
be in.” 

“Yes?” 

“She then said : ‘Tell him I will dine at the Carlton to- 


THE VORTEX 


281 


night at eight, and expect him to have dinner with me.’ 
I bobbed my head and answered, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then she 
said, ‘Do you think you can give that message correctly, 
my girl?’ I answered again, ‘Yes, ma’am. I think my 
intelligence will be equal to the strain you are putting 
on it.’ She then offered me a franc but I refused it.” 

“Damn it ! I’m sorry she came. ... I mean I’m sorry 
you were put in such a position.” 

“I think I’d better go away. Is that the lady you go 
about with so much?” 

“How do you know I go about with her?” 

“I’ve seen you; lots of times. She’s a bad woman, I 
tell you. I know all about her. She’s ruined lots of men. 
She’ll ruin you, too.” 

The girl semed to be trembling with suppressed rage. 
Hugh became angry. 

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself,” he said 
coldly. 

“Are you going to see her to-night?” 

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with you.” 

“Because if you do, I won’t stay here. I’ll leave to- 
night. I swear I will.” 

“You seem determined to create an atmosphere of un- 
pleasantness. I don’t like it. I’ll go and get lunch else- 
where.” 

He ate at the Bristol. Later, he took a walk, went for 
a swim, had tea at Scapini’s, and strolled about the 
“Cheese.” He could not get the thought of Margot out of 
his head. What had got into her? It was none of her 
business whom he went with. He would not let any one ex- 
ercise a control over his actions. As for her going away, 
it was an empty threat. She had said the same thing 
before. What did Mrs. Belmire want with him? It would 


282 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


be safer, perhaps, not to see her again. It was playing 
with fire. . . . 

At seven o’clock, nevertheless, he went home and 
changed into his evening clothes. As he was going out 
Margot stood by the door. 

“You’re going, then?” 

“Yes,” he said curtly. 

“Very well, then, I warn you; you won’t find me here 
when you come back.” 

“Do as you please. You are entirely mistress of your 
own actions.” 

He passed her, slamming the door. 

3. 

He found Mrs. Belmire waiting for him. She had re- 
served a table in one of the alcoves and looked very be- 
witching. 

“This is my farewell supper. I had intended to invite 
some other men ; then I thought it would be nicer, 
just we two.” 

Mrs. Belmire’s invitations to supper always included the 
privilege of paying for it. She seemed to have made up 
her mind to be the most charming of hostesses. She or- 
dered an exquisite brand of champagne and kept Hugh’s 
glass filled. She talked vivaciously, with long deep looks 
into his eyes, and little caressing touches of her hands. 
She nestled close to him, so close that it was disconcerting 
to look down on the delicious curves of dazzling flesh, 
emerging in such radiant and insolent beauty from a 
gown that sheathed her to the bust in front, and was cut 
to the waist behind. 

It was a gala night. There was a gay crowd of danc- 


THE VORTEX 


283 


ers; brilliant Chinese lanterns were strung closely over- 
head, and the walls and columns were covered with fanci- 
ful decorations of coloured crepe paper. 

“Don’t you love it all?” she sighed. “Light, love, 
laughter, — what a part they play in life.” 

He was inclined to agree with her. The triumphant 
wine was singing through his veins; the mad music was 
goading him to a frenzy of happiness ; the dazzling shoul- 
ders and gleaming arms of Mrs. Belmire were pagan in 
their beauty. The whole combination, wine, woman, song, 
was for him. Every fibre of his will was weakening in this 
atmosphere of sheer delight. 

“She’s got me going,” he almost groaned. When she 
turned away her head he emptied his champagne on the 
floor. 

Seeing his glass empty she plied him with another. 
“You don’t drink anything,” she said. “Come, it’s a poor 
heart that never rejoices. Let’s abandon ourselves. It’s 
so jolly nice to be together like this. I wish it could last 
forever.” 

The champagne was taking possession of his sense. He 
saw her through a roseate mist, a wholly voluptuous, de- 
sireful creature. He had drunk nearly two-thirds of the 
wine; more would be fatal. To avoid real intoxication, he 
stimulated a slight false one. 

“No more of the damned stuff,” he said roughly. “My 
head’s all buzzing with it. It’s poison. The tears of 
widows and orphans, the widows and orphans the old pro- 
fessor’s working for. . . .” 

She leaned forward eagerly. “I heard you made quite 
a lot to-day.” 

“He made nearly quarter of a million . . . for his 
widows and orphans.” 


284 * 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Why for them? Why not for you, for us?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to be rich? Wouldn’t you like to 
have a life like this always, — flowers, music, good wine, 
delicate food, a life of luxury?” 

“No, I wouldn’t. I want quiet and simplicity. I don’t 
want to be rich.” 

“Oh, you make me lose patience. You say you would 
like to be a painter. Well, why not study, — Paris, Rome 
and so on?” 

“That takes money. I haven’t got it.” 

“Yes, you have. All you want. Millions!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ll tell you later. Have some more wine.” 

“No, no. I’ve had enough. You want to make me 
drunk. Come on, let’s leave this cursed bordel. My head’s 
splitting. I want fresh air.” 

“Poor boy! You want to lie down a bit. I say, come 
and stretch, chez moi. You can smoke a cigarette and 
have a snooze if you like. It’s quiet there.” 

He would have broken away, but she held his arm and 
called a voiture. It was exactly ten o’clock when they left 
the restaurant and descended to the Pension Pizzicato. 
Once in the open air the fumes of the wine affected him 
with sudden drowsiness. 

“Look here,” he said, “I do believe I’m a bit squiffy. 
Perhaps I’d better lie down on your sofa for half an 
hour.” 

“That’s a good boy. Come on.” 

He remembered descending unsteadily from the voiture 
and stumbling up to her room. They met no one on the 
way. He threw himself on her divan and closed his eyes. 


THE VORTEX 


285 


4. 

When he opened them again she was bending over him. 
She wore a lilac peignoir that clothed her loosely. As 
he looked at her, surprised, she said: 

“My dear boy, how’s your poor head? You know 
you’ve slept nearly two hours. And look who’s here, — 
Mr. Fetterstein. He came just a few minutes after we 
did. We’ve been chatting.” 

Fetterstein was comfortably seated, smoking a huge 
cigar, and drinking a whiskey and soda. He grunted 
amiably to Hugh. 

“Y ey, boy! Some snorer too, hey, Mrs. B. ? Well, 
feelin’ better?” 

“Yes, thanks. I’m all right now.” 

“Have a cigar?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Well, if you’ll excuse me I’ll hit the hay. I’m not the 
night-hawk I used to be. Gettin’ old, hey ! I’ll leave the 
rounder game to you young bloods. Good night, young 
chap.” 

When he had gone Mrs. Belmire came impulsively to 
Hugh and knelt by the side of his chair. 

“My poor darling! Are you really feeling better? We 
talked low so as not to disturb you. Old Fetterstein’s 
not a bad sort. You mustn’t mind him. You know he 
wants me to go to Vichy with him. He will pay all my 
debts.” 

“Are you going?” 

“I don’t want to. I want to go with you. Let’s go to 
Venice. It’s a dream.” 

He looked at her in a dazed way. She put her arms 
around his neck. 


286 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Oh, come. You’re the only man I love in all the world. 
In a few more years I will be passee ; but now I am at my 
very best. Look at me. Don’t I please you? Take me. 
I’ll be everything to you as long as you like. When you 
tire of me, I’ll go. I’ll be yours, all yours. I’m not fickle. 
I’ll love you, you alone. You won’t regret it. We’ll live 
in places that glitter and glow ; we will drink to the full 
the wine of life. Oh, take me, take me. . . .” 

“I don’t understand. How can I do these things ? I’m 
not a man of wealth. . . .” 

“Oh, yes, you are, if you like. There’s the old pro- 
fessor. You know how to play as he does. You can get 
hold of his books, copy his figures. We’ll go to San 
Sebastien, Buenos Ayres, everywhere roulette is allowed. 
Play, play for yourself. Become rich. Life without 
money is hell. Come! you’ll do it. Won’t you, won’t 
you . . .” 

She clung to him. He looked at her with something 
like horror. 

“You want me to steal the professor’s system?” 

“Yes, if you want to put it that way. Why not? He’s 
old, half mad. Charity begins at home. Why not?” 

“Never!” 

“You will . . . you will. . . .” 

She seemed to be holding him with all the strength of her 
body ; she kissed him like a mad thing. He could feel her 
hot panting breath on his face, see her eyes burn into his. 

“No, a thousand times no!” 

She was like a splendid animal mad with passion. He 
rose and wrenching her arms apart, backed away from 
her, a look of repulsion in his eyes. She saw it and knew 
she was defeated. 

She crouched by the empty chair, her head dropping 


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287 


on her outstretched arms. She seemed to be sobbing. 

He paused by the door. Something forlorn in her 
attitude touched him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I were mad for love of you, 
I would do anything you asked me, but . . . I’m not. 
I can’t go with you because I don’t care for you in that 
way. I realize it now. Perhaps I should have known it 
sooner. Please forgive me.” 

She rose and faced him. 

“Forgive you. . . . You poor fool! Did you think I 
meant it? Why, I was only acting. Did you think I 
cared for you? It’s only money I care for, money, money. 
I offered myself to you and you refused me. You are the 
only man who ever did that. It’s that that hurts. You’ve 
wounded me in a way time will never heal. I hate you, 
hate you ! Oh, I could kill you. Go ! . . .” 

She pointed to the door, then turning, once again drop- 
ped beside the chair. She was really crying now, shaken 
with great rending sobs. 

He left her. As he passed in front of the dark Casino, 
the pinkish face of the clock showed it to be one in the 
morning. All the way downhill to the Condamine he did 
not meet a soul. There was no moon; and the quietness 
was almost eerie. 

The passage leading to the house was as dark as a 
tunnel of anthracite. He plunged into its blackness, then 
stopped short. A man was blocking his way. Instinc- 
tively his hand went to his hip pocket for his automatic. 
Assassins. . . . 

Then a second man, darting from behind, gripped his 
arms. He struggled madly ; but the first man, closing in, 
struck at him with something hard, and he remembered 
no more. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


w 


ARREST 

'HERE am I?” 

About him were bare, white-washed walls ; 
the light came by grudgingly through a 
small barred window that gave on rock and shrub. He 
struggled to a sitting position on the pallet bed on which 
he lay. The place reeled round and round. He groaned, 
and put his hand to his head. It was bandaged. It ached 
atrociously. What had happened? He tried to think, 
but thinking was painful. Memory returned in gleams and 
flashes. Bit by bit the evening before came back to him. 
But how to account for his present position? He gave 
up the effort and lay down again. 

A man entered, a rather grim, brown man in a kind of 
uniform. 

“Monsieur has awakened?” 

“Yes, what place is this?” 

“It is the detention room of the Monaco Police Sta- 
tion.” 

“But why am I here?” 

“Monsieur was arrested only this morning.” 

“Arrested! Good Heavens ! Why?” 

“Ah! that is not for me to say. Monsieur will be 
brought before the examining magistrate in an hour. 
Will monsieur take petit dejeuner ?” 

“Bring me some strong coffee. It may buck me up.” 

The coffee cleared his head wonderfully and helped him 
to realize his position. He had been arrested last night 

288 


THE VORTEX 


289 


by those two men in the dark entry. They certainly had 
used him roughly enough. He would make a deuce of a 
row about that. The whole thing was outrageous, an 
error or else a dastardly plot. Then he became uneasy. 
Anything might happen here. He was at the mercy of 
the powers that be. They might throw him into one of 
the dungeons ©f the Castle. Sinister forebodings invaded 
him. 

Presently two policemen came for him, and he walked 
between them to a large room where three men were sit- 
ting at a curving desk. Their backs were to a double 
window but he was placed in the glare of the strong light. 

The three men were dusky Monegascans. They wore 
black frock coats and black bow ties. The centre one was 
severe and stout, the one on the right severe and thin, the 
third was young, intelligent and amiable looking. It 
was evident they were important personages in the judi- 
ciary system of the Principality, probably the examining 
magistrate, the state attorney and the chief of police. 
The stout one addressed him curtly. 

“Your name is Hugh Kildair?” 

“Yes.” 

“You inhabit a room on the third floor of the Villa 
Lorenza?” 

“Yes.” 

The magistrate consulted his notes. There w^as a 
silence. Hugh saw six piercing eyes fixed on his face. 

“Can you account for your movements from ten o’clock 
until midnight yesterday evening?” 

Hugh reflected that his movements during that time 
consisted of somewhat stertorous respirations on the sofa 
of Mrs. Belmire’s sitting room, and hesitated. But after 
all, he thought, he had no need to be reticent as far as 


290 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


Mrs. Belmire was concerned. He resented those damned 
descendants of Saracen pirates, though. What had they 
against him? 

“I don’t understand,” he protested. “What have I 
been arrested for? It’s an outrage. I’ll appeal to the 
British consul.” 

The youngest of the men interposed smoothly. “You 
do not seem to realize the seriousness of your position, 
monsieur. You will do well to answer the question.” 

Hugh was impressed. 

“Well,” he said, “I was with a lady, if you wish to 
know.” 

“Kindly give us her name.” 

“A Mrs. Belmire, an English lady.” 

The three exchanged glances. The thin one shrugged 
his shoulders. The pleasant one smiled meaningly. 

“She is known to us,” said the fat one. “Will you be so 
good as to tell us where and how you passed the entire 
evening.” 

Hugh repressed his growing indignation. He answered 
sullenly enough: 

“I met her at eight at the Carlton. We had dinner. At 
ten we took a voiture and went to her hotel. There I fell 
asleep on her sofa and awoke about twelve. I remained 
till nearly one, when I left for my room. In the dark 
entry of the house where I live, my way was barred by a 
man. . . . But then you know more than I do about 
what happened from then on.” 

“Why did you attempt to draw your pistol?” 

“I was nervous. In the past few weeks there have been 
attempts to injure me.” 

The pleasant looking man nodded confirmation to this. 
The thin man then said : 


THE VORTEX 


291 


“We had better get hold of the English lady at once. 
She is not the most desirable of witnesses, but ... if 
what monsieur says is supported, he has an undeniable 
alibi and we can release him.” 

“Release me ! Of course, you will. What have I done, 
tell me. What am I charged with?” 

“There is no charge yet. You are arrested on suspi- 
cion only.” 

“Of what?” 

The three looked at each other. Then the fat one bent 
forward dramatically. 

“Of murder.” 

“Good God! Whose murder?” 

The lean one fixed his piercing eyes on Hugh’s face. 

“ Professor Durand was murdered in his room last night , 
between ten and twelve .” 

All three watched him closely. He was dazed by the 
shock. He stared at them blankly. 

“Horrible!” he murmured. “The poor old man . . . 
murdered ! . . .” 

“Yes, stabbed to the heart.” 

“But who did it? Why have you arrested me?” 

“Because the concierge says he saw you go up to the 
old man’s room a little after ten, and leave a little after 
eleven.” 

“Me!” 

“Yes. If you can prove that you were elsewhere, then 
the man must have been mistaken. We’ll see the English 
lady at once.” 

But alas ! a telephone call to the Pension Pizzicato in- 
formed them that Mrs. Belmire had left early that morn- 
ing with Mr. Fetterstein in a high powered car. Destina- 
tion unknown. 


292 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Hum !” said the magistrate, “that makes it bad for 
you. We are willing to release you if you can prove an 
incontestable alibi. We don’t want any trouble here. But 
if you cannot we must hand you over to the French au- 
thorities.” 

“Hold on,” said Hugh. “Fetterstein was there too, in 
the room.” 

“You mean Monsieur Fetterstein, the multi-millionaire 
American?” 

“Yes, the same.” 

“Ah !” All three looked impressed. 

“If only Monsieur Fetterstein would testify in your 
favour that would end the matter as far as you are con- 
cerned. He is well known to us and much esteemed.” 

“But can’t you find him?” 

“That might be hard. There is all France to search. 
Cannot your friends here hire a lawyer, get some one to 
help you, — a detective? . . .” 

Hugh considered. “Perhaps Monsieur Krantz would 
help me.” 

They looked surprised; Hugh went on: 

“Will you let him know the position I’m in? If any one 
can find them he can.” 

The chief of police nodded. “He’s already interested 
in the case.” 

The magistrate talked with the others in the Monegas- 
can dialect. Finally he said : 

“We will see what we can do. In the meantime you 
must remain here. We will investigate the affair thor- 
oughly. If you are innocent you need have no fear of the 
result. That is all I can say for the present.” 

Hugh was conducted back to his cell, and left to his 


THE VORTEX 


293 


own reflections. He sat for a long time in a state verging 
on stupour. The professor murdered, — that was the 
thought that drove all others from his head, made him 
forget even his own plight. The professor murdered! 
But by whom? There were those who had reason enough 
to want the old man out of the way ; there were those who 
would rejoice at his death. But assassination! No, they 
would surely draw the line at that. Krantz had a drastic 
way of dealing with criminals, but he would never stain 
his hands with the blood of honest men. Still, he had ad- 
mitted he could not always keep his subordinates in check. 

If, then, it had not been the act of an irresponsible tool 
of Krantz, who else had an interest in disposing of the 
professor? As he lay through the long day he pondered 
on this. How slowly the time passed ! He thought sadly 
that all his friends had gone. MacTaggart, Gimp, Tope, 
he was sure they would have hurried to his aid. Margot, 
too! Why had she not come? She must know by now 
where he was. A strange longing to see her came over 
him. It would be more comforting to see her than any 
one else. 

In the evening to his surprise Krantz arrived. The 
detective entered with a smile of cheerful mockery that 
was rather irritating to a man in Hugh’s position. 

“Hullo,”. he said, laughing as if it was quite funny, 
“vou’ve grot yourself into a nice mess.” 

“Have I?” 

“Looks like it, doesn’t it? Here’s your concierge swear- 
ing you were in the old man’s room at the time the mur- 
der was committed. You say that you were elsewhere, 
but you cannot produce your witnesses. You name two 
people who have left the country, gone goodness knows 


294 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


where. Doesn’t it strike you that if they should not 
come back to testify for you, you will be in a devilish 
awkward box?” 

“Look here, Krantz, you know I didn’t do it.” 

“Of course, I know it,” said Krantz smilingly. 

“And you know who did do it.” 

The face of Krantz grew very grave. “Hum! I’m not 
so sure of that.” 

“But what was the motive?” 

“Robbery, of course. Didn’t they tell you that the 
safe was opened, all the papers taken? He had better 
luck than I, whoever he was.” 

“And the system ?” 

“Stolen. That’s unfortunate. I wish I knew who he 
was.” 

“Whoever has it can’t use it,” said Hugh. “It’s in 
cypher, and there’s only one man who can decipher it.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“Me.” 

“That’s interesting. Humph! I’ll remember that.” 

Krantz thoughtfully tapped the floor with his cane for 
a full minute. Then he rose. 

“I’m going to help you if I can. I’ll try to find your 
two witnesses so that you can establish your alibi. But if 
I get you clear, and should ever want your aid (in an hon- 
ourable way, of course) you’ll help me?” 

“Yes.” 

“All right. Don’t worry. Good night.” 

The visit of Krantz cheered Hugh and he was able to 
get some sleep. But the next two days crawled past 
miserably. Except for the warders with his food no 
one came near him ; again his fears took shape. What if 
Mrs. Belmire and Fetterstein could not be found! Mrs. 


THE VORTEX 


295 


Belmire probably hated him and might be glad to revenge 
herself on him by keeping out of the way. But no, he 
thought, she was too good a sport for that. There was 
Fetterstein, too. Everything must come right. The time 
seemed so long. 

On the fourth day he was again ushered into the bureau. 
The stout magistrate was at his desk and beside him sat 
the chief of police. He smiled benignly at Hugh. 

“Everything has been explained,” he said, “as far as 
you are concerned. You are released. You need have no 
further fear. We regret exceedingly we have been obliged 
to put you to the inconvenience.” 

He bowed with a gesture of dismissal, and Hugh lost 
no time in leaving the room. As he emerged from the 
police station a voice hailed him : 

“Hullo there ! Sorry we didn’t know you were in such 
a hell of a fix or we’d have got here sooner. They con- 
nected with us at Marseilles and we came right on in the 
car. We’ve just been and interviewed the old guy. You 
bet we soon straightened things out. By the way, allow 
me to present you to Mrs. Fetterstein.” 

Hugh stared. Fetterstein with a hearty laugh was in- 
dicating a lady who was arranging her motoring veil. It 
was Mrs. Belmire. She looked radiant. 

“Yes, we were married in Marseilles yesterday. Oh, I’m 
so happy! He’s really such a nice old thing. You’ve no 
idea. We’re going to Italy for our honeymoon. So sorry 
we didn’t know you were in trouble, or we’d have simply 
flown to the rescue. He’s made an affidavit, or something 
of the kind. Well, all’s well that ends well. Now we must 
be getting on. Come, you precious old dear. Good-bye, 
Mr. Kildair. Hope we’ll all meet again.” 

Hugh had no time for congratulations. They sprang 


296 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


into a great cheese-coloured car, and were gone, leaving 
him in a state of utter bewilderment. 

He made his way slowly back to the house he called 
home. Forebodings assailed him. The concierge had 
gone, no doubt dreading awkward explanations. Looking 
up Hugh saw that the windows of the professor’s room 
were shuttered. So also were his own. To find his room 
so dark, so silent, struck a chill to his heart! 

“Margot ! Margot !” 

No reply. He pulled aside the grey curtain. Her bed 
had not been slept in. He searched everywhere for a 
note from her. Nothing! Had she carried out her 
threat? Had she left him as she had said she would? 

He went slowly down stairs and asked the tenant of 
the room below for news. The woman shook her head. 

“The petite blonde? No, I know nothing of her. She 
disappeared the night of the crime.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


TRAPPED 


1 . 


T HE next three days were more miserable to Hugh 
than those he had spent in prison. He missed 
Margot keenly. He had become so used to her; 
she had waited on him so devotedly; had made herself so 
essential to him in a hundred little ways. Her sudden 
desertion of him when he most needed her filled him with 
dismay. 

He felt injured, too. He had done a good deal for her. 
He had always been a perfect brother, respectful and 
courteous. If she had been a real sister, he could not 
have thought more of her. If he could get her back he 
would be even more considerate. He would take her to 
the cinema, to tea sometimes, even for a drive occasionally. 
The trouble was, if he went about with her, people would 
jump at wrong conclusions. Well, in future, let ’em jump. 
He would buy that cottage and she should keep house for 
him. He wondered if it would be possible to legally adopt 
her as a sister. Then she could live with him until she 
found the man she wanted to marry. Why not? 

Where was she? In Paris, no doubt; taking up the 
weary struggle once more. She would surely write soon, 
then he would go and fetch her. Why had she left most 
of her clothes, he wondered? All the things he had bought 
her? Perhaps she did not want to take them. The sight 
of her abandoned garments made him lonelier than ever. 

297 


298 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


She must have left just before the crime. If she had 
been there, it might not have happened, she always kept 
such a watchful eye on the old man’s door. How shocked 
she would be. She had been so fond of the professor, fuss- 
ing over him, doing things for him. Poor man ! So that 
was the end of all his grandiose schemes. And the system 
was useless, foi only he, Hugh, had the key. Well, he was 
glad it had been stolen. He had always hated it. There 
had been something so uncanny about it. Although it was 
always successful, it seemed to bring misfortune on all con- 
nected with it. 

He felt the shadow of the tragedy penetrating even to 
his room. The concierge who had identified him as the 
murderer, had discreetly gone on a vacation; but Hugh 
had gathered dubious details of what had happened. 
About ten o’clock the assassin had mounted to the old 
man’s room. The concierge had seen him enter, but had 
not seen him leave. About midnight the occupant of the 
room below, a Casino employe, had heard groaning; but 
by the time the door had been opened the old man was 
dead. He was lying face downward in a pool of blood with 
a knife stab just under the ribs. The safe was open and 
empty; the room ransacked. 

That was all Hugh could learn. It was vague and con- 
fusing enough. The Monaco police seemed to be in no 
hurry to clear up the mystery and probably would allow 
it to swell the list of the Principality’s undiscovered 
crimes. 

Oh, for a word from Margot ! He was growing anxious 
about her. Then one day the postman handed him a 
letter. 


THE VORTEX 


299 


2 . 

It bore the post-mark of Monaco. He tore it open and 
read with amazement the following: 

“My dear Cousin : 

“You will no doubt be surprised at this manner of 
address, but various things have led me to conclude that 
the above relationship exists between us. 

“My uncle was Gilbert Kildair, the well-known artist, 
who, I find according to the records of the Municipality 
of Menton, was duly married to Lucia Fontana on the 
nineteenth of October, 1898. 

“After his death she went to England to see if his family 
would not do something for her and her son; but they 
had quarrelled with him and refused to recognize her as 
his wife. 

“My mother was a Kildair, and struck by the curious 
resemblance between us, I made inquiries with this result. 

“I know that up to now your feelings towards me have 
been hostile, but I hope that in view of our newly dis- 
covered relationship, you will let byegones be byegones. 
After all, blood is thicker than water, and already I feel 
an interest in you that exceeds the warmth of ordinary 
friendship. 

“I would like you to visit me at my Villa. If it suits 
you, my car will await you at ten this evening at the 
Church of St. Devote. Do run you up. Please do not 

fail me> «v 

“Your cousin, 

“Paul Vulning.” 


Hugh had to read this extraordinary letter over three 
times before he understood the significance of it. To his 


300 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


amazement suceeded disgust. He had no desire to be re- 
lated to Vulning. His dislike for the man was invincible. 
There was also his resentment towards his father’s family. 
He did not want to have anything to do with them. They 
had refused to recognize his mother, and had never shown 
the slightest interest in himself. Vulning was typical of 
them, arrogant, selfish, supercilious. Why then this sud- 
den interest on his part? Why did Vulning recognize him 
now, want to take him up ? Hugh was puzzled. 

He decided to go to Vulning’s villa ; there could be no 
harm in that. He might gain some information about his 
parents. He did not like Vulning any the better now that 
he knew he was a cousin. Still there was no reason 
they should not be decently civil to one another. 

He was glad to learn that his father had been a well 
known artist. That accounted for his own modest talent 
and his joy in playing with colours. His mother . . . 
his poor mother . . . perhaps she was one of the Fon- 
tanas of Monaco, the famous Fontanas. He must go over 
to Menton and look up the register. The letter suggested 
to him new and engrossing lines of thought. He awaited 
the evening with impatience. 

At ten o’clock the carmine car was waiting, breathing 
softly, with great glowing eyes. The chauffeur touched 
his hat and Hugh leapt into the seat beside him. How he 
loved a car ! This was a Hispana Suiza and the one-eyed 
chauffeur drove like a demon. He climbed the steep ser- 
pentine hill, nursing his motor with infinite delicacy. 
The engine roared triumphantly ; the lights of the 
town fell away ; the world widened gloriously. They rose 
with a steady, panting urge, toward the mountains and 
the stars. 

Soon they were well in the belt of orange groves and 


THE VORTEX 


301 


the road became more difficult to follow. The chauffeur 
was driving at a slow pace, the way twisting and turning. 
Hugh could hardly believe that any one lived in such a re- 
mote place until he remembered that Vulning’s villa was 
the highest on the hillside. It was ideal for any one 
who loved seclusion; the view must be superb. Presently 
lights swooped towards them, and the wheels of the car 
ground in the gravel. They had arrived. 

There is always something mysterious about the ap- 
proach to a lonely house at night. The sense of mystery 
at Vulning’s villa was heightened by the great garden that 
encircled it. The vast velvety blackness, with its sugges- 
tions of pines and Cyprus, and its rich sullen silence was 
almost aggressive. Against the mountain the tall house 
loomed faintly. It was terraced on three sides, with a 
flight of steps leading up to the front entrance. 

As he mounted them the door opened and a man 
awaited him. Hugh was surprised to see it was Bob 
Bender. Bob smiled in his sly, deprecating way. 

“How are you, sir? Mr. Vulning’s expecting you. 
He’s in the library. Come this way.” 

He led Hugh down a long unlighted hall and halted 
before a door. The air was stale and heavy. 

Then the door was opened and Hugh found himself in 
a large sombre room, panelled in dark wood ; over what 
appeared to be a bay-window hung heavy crimson cur- 
tains. The window was evidently open, as the curtains 
trembled slightly. By an oak table in the middle of the 
room stood Vulning with a curious smile on his face. 

As the two men faced one another the resemblance be- 
tween them was more striking than ever. Both were tall 
and slim and straight. Both had the severely regu- 
lar features of the type that used to be known as 


302 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


the English governing class. Their hair was of the same 
light chestnut and brushed smoothly back. But while 
Hugh’s eyes were black, those of Vulning were blue; 
while Hugh’s face was frank and boyish, that of Vulning 
was cynical and blase. There appeared to be a dozen 
years of difference in their ages. 

For a moment there was an awkward pause, then Vul- 
ning held out his hand with a rather exaggerated cor- 
diality. 

“Come on, now, be cousinly. I know you are pre- 
judiced against me; but, hang it all, I’ve suffered more 
at your hands than you have at mine. Let’s forget it, 
bury the hatchet, shake hands. Come, be a good sport.” 

Hugh complied reluctantly. Cousin or not he could 
not overcome his repugnance to this man. 

“You were doubtless surprised,” Vulning went on 
pleasantly. “I was, too, when I made the discovery. 
It was our mutual friend, Mrs. Belmire, who put me 
on the track. It is really a very curious coincidence. 
However, we won’t dwell on that. I asked you up here to 
speak about quite another matter. Won’t you sit down? 
You’ll find that arm-chair quite decent.” 

Hugh took it, but Vulning remained standing. 

“Now,” he continued, “I am afraid I am going to sur- 
prise you a second time. To make a long story short, a 
few days ago there came into my hands, in a round-about- 
way, certain documents with which you are doubtless fa- 
miliar. It was with regard to these I wanted to see you. 
Look. . . ” 

With that Vulning extracted from the inside pocket of 
his coat a rolled mass of manuscript, and laid it on the 
table, keeping his hand on it. 

“You know this, eh?” 


THE VORTEX 


303 


Hugh was speechless. He sat staring at the document. 
The cover had been torn away, but he recognized it at 
once. 

“The system of Professor Durand,” he gasped. 

“Precisely. It’s all here. It was taken from his safe, 
and has come into my possession; how — I cannot for the 
moment explain. Now what I want of you is this. . . .” 

Vulning bent forward eagerly, his eyes gleaming. 

“You and I alone know of this. I have all the docu- 
ments that refer to the system, but I am forced to confess 
I can do nothing with it. You, I believe, are the one man 
who can decipher it. Now I want to propose a partner- 
ship between us. You will translate this manuscript. We 
will work the thing together. We will get a hundred mil- 
lion francs out of the bank. We will share fifty-fifty. 
That is generous, — too generous. But then we are cou- 
sins. Well, are you on?” 

Hugh sat as if transfixed, staring at the folio. 
The sudden sight of it, combined with the impudence of 
the proposal, quite took away his breath. Vulning 
watched him keenly. 

“Takes you some time to realize it. I told you I would 
surprise you.” 

Hugh started up. “But,” he cried, “these documents 
do not belong to you. They were stolen. The professor 
intended to leave them to me after his death. I was to 
publish them. It’s a sacred trust. Here, give them to 
me. . . .” 

He made a grab for the documents ; but Vulning with- 
drew them quickly, and at the same time jerked a small 
revolver from his pocket. 

“No, you don’t,” he sneered. “Stand back. I’ve got 
you covered.” 


304 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“You’ve no right to these papers,” Hugh protested 
hotly. “I’ll go and tell the police.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Don’t be a fool. It’s 
a fair offer I’m making you. You translate this and we’ll 
work together. Cornel” 

“I refuse.” 

“You refuse. You surprise me. An easy chance to 
make fifty million francs. Think of all it means, man, 
— wealth, luxury, beauty. We are getting it all legiti- 
mately from an institution that deserves no better treat- 
ment. Consider again. You’ll translate this?” 

“I tell you ; no !” 

“May I ask why?” 

“Because . . . Look here, how did those documents 
come into your hands ?” 

“Never mind. I told you we would not go into that.” 

“You have some connection with this theft. You . . .” 

Then a light burst on Hugh. The man for whom he 
had been arrested — 

“It was you who stole them. . . . And — Oh, my God! 
. . . you damned villain 1 It was you, you who murdered 
Professor Durand.” 

Yulning’s face went white; he seemed about to collapse. 

“No, I didn’t,” he stammered. “Not that. I swear I 
didn’t do that. Look here, I’ll be quite honest. I con- 
fess I took the papers. The professor admitted me in 
the dusk, thinking it was you. He was working, and the 
safe was open. I asked to refer to the system, and he 
brought it to me. Then he saw who it was. We strug- 
gled, and I gave him a touch of chloroform, a mere touch, 
not enough to harm him. When I came away he was 
sleeping like a baby. I took the papers, closed the safe 
and left very quietly. That’s all I know. He was found 


THE VORTEX 305 

later, stabbed to the heart. I did not do it. I swear to 
that.” 

Aghast, incapable of action, Hugh stood staring at him. 
Then as quickly as he had weakened Vulning recovered 
himself, and started forward, tense, tigerish. 

“I’ve told you too much,” he snarled. He covered 
Hugh with his revolver. 

“You dog! I hate you. You refuse to give up 
what you know, — well then, there’s only one thing left, — 
to make you. Ho ! there.” 

At his shout the door was thrown open. Bob Bender 
and the one-eyed chauffeur rushed in. 

“Quick. That rope in the corner ! Tie him up. 
Steady there, you young hound ; or I’ll shoot.” 

The chauffeur and Bob Bender threw themselves on 
Hugh. In spite of Vulning’s threat, he struggled fiercely. 
It was not until the chauffeur had pinioned and tripped 
him that he fell heavily. The three men held him down, 
and trussed him so that he could not move. He lay help- 
less, gazing up at them and panting painfully. 

“Ah,” said Vulning, “that was hard. Let me get my 
breath. . . .” 

He regarded Hugh malevolently. As he lit a cigarette, 
his eyes were sinister in their cruelty. 

“He refuses to do what we want, boys. There’s only 
one thing left, regrettable though it is; we’ve got jto 
make him. Prop him up against the wall.” 

They did so. Hugh glared at them. 

“Go on,” he gasped. “You murdered the professor. 
Murder me too.” 

“I think we’ll get what we want out of you without 
that,” said Vulning. “Close that window, Bob. He’ll 
probably scream. Chariot, you know your job.” 


306 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


What were they going to do? Hugh’s eyes followed 
them fearfully. He watched Bob Bender go to the window 
and remain some moments fumbling at the latch. He 
saw the villainous-faced chauffeur leave the room and re- 
turn with a pair of powerful pincers in his hand. Mean- 
while Paul Vulning sat down on the edge of the table and 
inhaled his cigarette. He was evidently enjoying the 
scene and proposed to play with his victim as a cat does 
with a mouse. Well, Hugh resolved, he would not cry 
out whatever happened. At least Vulning should not get 
that satisfaction from him. 

The chauffeur caught Hugh’s hand, and, gripping the 
end of his thumb with the pincers, began to squeeze. 
Hugh felt the nail crack. The pain was excruciating. 
His breath came quick; his eyes started from his head. 
He choked back his groan of agony. Vulning was grinning 
now, the grin of a devil. It was that grin that nerved 
Hugh ; not a sound passed his lips. 

“Harder yet,” hissed Vulning. “Make him scream. Be- 
gin on another finger. Get a good grip. Squeeze! Re- 
member, there are ten of them.” 

He was carried away by a passion of cruelty and trem- 
bled with a strange joy as he watched Hugh’s face. The 
pain was so atrocious that Hugh almost fainted. Never 
mind ! They should not make him give in. They should 
kill him first. 

“Here, let me do it,” said Vulning. “You’re too easy.” 

Hugh felt his nail bursting under the continued pres- 
sure. He closed his eyes. His breath came in long 
gasps. . . . 

Then suddenly in that tense and thrilling silence he 
heard a voice ringing out, high, harsh, metallic: 

“Hands up, all of you” 


CHAPTER SIX 


THE ESCAPE 

1 . 

T HE three swung round and jerked their hands 
above their heads. A very tall man stood in the 
doorway. He had a spade-shaped beard and 
a coppery complexion. His hair of a glossy black was 
brushed smoothly back from a long, retreating forehead. 
His large nose was like the beak of a bird, and his black 
eyes glittered. In his outstretched hands he held two 
large automatic pistols. Hugh recognized to his amaze- 
ment the supposed Brazilian diplomat, Doctor Bergius. 

“Keep your hands up, gentlemen,” said Doctor Bergius 
warningly; and with a careless air he lowered his pistols 
and entered the room. 

At his heels trooped three others. The first, no other 
than the dashing Italian Castelli, was in evening dress, but 
handling his revolver as if accustomed to its use. The 
other two were the most blood-thirsty pair of ruffians 
Hugh had ever seen. One was huge and hulking, hairy 
like a bear. A short beard almost covered his face, and 
his hair, bristly as that of a worn scrubbing-brush, came 
down to meet his bushy eye-brows. His companion was a 
very small man, spare, active and hairy as a monkey, 
with a lean and withered face and slit eyes that twinkled 
with malice. 

“Come on, Golaz,” said Doctor Bergius to the tall 
ruffian. “You can look after the old fellow. Golaz, gen- 

307 


308 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


tlemen, is my knife-man. In fact he used to be a pig- 
sticker. He is rather an enthusiastic specialist. He’d as 
lief cut your throat as look at you. Wouldn’t you, 
Golaz ?” 

The ursine man grunted in a pleased way. He took out 
a murderous-looking knife and going up to Bob Bender, 
who was standing very straight, with his arms in the air, 
made a playful pass with the knife across Bob’s scraggy 
throat. A little spot of blood appeared. Bob shud- 
dered. Then Golaz gave him a little dig in the ribs 
with the needle point of the knife. Bob shivered. 

“Golaz is really an artist,” said the doctor. “I have 
the greatest difficulty in restraining him. Now let me in- 
troduce another of my pets. Advance, Gamba.” 

The simian man came forward grinning. 

“Gamba’s specialty is strangling,” explained Doctor 
Bergius. “His work is slower but not less sure. Once 
let him get those hairy hands of his around your throat, 
and you’ll have to kill him to make him let go. You love 
to get your fingers round a windpipe, don’t you, Gamba ?” 

Gamba grinned broadly, clutching and gripping with 
his hands in a suggestive manned 

“All right, Gamba, you can account for the chauffeur. 
As for you, Castelli, I leave you the Englishman. Now 
that these preliminaries are all settled I can take a smoke.” 

With a sigh of satisfaction Doctor Bergius sank down 
in the big arm chair and lit a cigarette. 

“Ah,” ht sighed again, “what would life be without the 
soothing weed? You can have women and wine, Castelli; 
I would not exchange them both for nicotine. This is a 
comfortable den, Vulning; I feel quite at home already. 
Ha ' I see you have the papers there. Castelli, hand them 
to me.’ 


THE VORTEX 309 

The Italian took the system from Vulning’s hand and 
gave it to the doctor. 

“Thank you. I imagine it’s all here. Also . . .” he 
turned to Hugh, “it’s translator. Excellent. You know, 
Vulning, you’ve given me a lot of trouble. We were both 
on the same errand, only you went out by the door just 
as I came in by the window. What a pity you closed that 
safe. How was I to know it was empty? There I was 
struggling to open it, when the old man woke up. Golaz 
had to take his case in hand. The methods of Golaz are 
not refined but they are effective. Well, now to business.” 

Doctor Bergius turned over the leaves of the system. 
“Here it is in my hands at last, the key that opens the 
golden gates of wealth. I say, Vulning, I’m sorry for 
you. You worked hard for this. I’m not such a bad chap 
after all. I’m going to take you in with us. You and 
Castelli can be on the same footing. The others can 
rank with Golaz and Gamba. Do you accept?” 

Vulning nodded sullenly ; the other two with alacrity. 

“Good. You may lower your hands. And now let us 
come to this young man you have so beautifully bound, 
and I fear, so sadly maltreated. Your methods are primi- 
tive. I think I can show you a better way to make him 
listen to reason. Golaz, bring in the girl.” 

Hugh started. He had fallen forward ; but, by turning 
his head painfully, he could follow the movements of 
Golaz. He saw the big cut-throat disappear into the hall- 
way. He heard a low moan and it seemed his heart for- 
got to beat. With straining eyes he watched the doorway. 
Yes, his worst fears were realized. Golaz entered with 
Margot in his arms. Her hands and feet were tied; her 
eyes closed, her hair streaming to the floor. She did not 
seem conscious of what was happening. 


310 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Put her down,” said Doctor Bergius. “And now sup- 
pose we begin by trying this instrument of torture on 
those rosy little nails. It may be more effective with 
our obstinate friend here. Golaz and Gamba, hold her. 
Castelli, you can wield the pincers.” 

But Castelli hung back. “No, Master,” he said with 
a shrug, “I have no stomach for that. A man, yes! A 
woman, well . . 

“All right, Castelli. I know your softness of heart 
where the weaker sex is concerned. Vulning, to you will 
fall the honour.” 

Again Paul Vulning took up the big pincers, and the 
points closed over the girl’s thumb-nail. With a piercing 
scream she opened her eyes. 

“Hear that?” said Doctor Bergius to Hugh. “That’s 
only a beginning. If necessary we’ll crack her ten little 
nails like hazel nuts. Then if you don’t do what we want, 
I’ll hand her over to Golaz and Gamba to work their will 
on her. You know what that means. On the other hand 
if you consent, if you tell us the meaning of all this, you 
will both be well treated. You will perhaps be kept in 
close confinement for a few weeks, but after that you will 
be released. By then I hope we shall be ready to depart 
with the spoil. Shall we begin again on the girl?” 

Hugh shook his head. His face was stamped with hor- 
ror. “No, no,” he cried hoarsely. “I’ll do anything 
you want.” 

“That’s a sensible lad. Seat him at the table and re- 
lease his right arm. Vulning, have the goodness to fetch 
me pen, ink and paper.” 

Vulning brought them from a little card table that 
stood in front of the bay window. Doctor Bergius rose 
and bent over Hugh. 


THE VORTEX 


311 


“Now,” he said in his harsh metallic voice, “what we 
want you to do is quite simple. You will put on that 
paper all the symbols in those documents with their mean- 
ings. After that we will shut you up while I make the 
translation. If you forget anything and give me need- 
less trouble, I shall have to deal severely with you. Also 
I will hold you responsible for the subsequent working of 
the system. So you see I want you to take your task very 
seriously. Now, go ahead.” 

Hugh was placed facing the curtained window. He 
took up the pen and began to write. Doctor Bergius 
paced up and down. Every now and then he would look 
at the document in his hand and then at the symbols Hugh 
was writing. The page was soon covered with them. 
Hugh strained his memory. Had he forgotten anything? 
Were they complete? 

As he paused for a moment, his brows pursed in thought, 
the eyes of all were fixed on him. The doctor stood with 
his back to the bay window, and as he struck a match to 
light a fresh cigarette, he laid the precious documents 
down on the little card table. Then in the tense silence 
the striking of the match startled Hugh, and he glanced 
up. . . . What was it he was seeing? . . . Behind the 
doctor a long sinewy hand was passing between the crim- 
son curt aim. It reached towards the little card table ; it 
clutched the bundle of papers; it disappeared . But in 
that swift moment Hugh saw that the little finger of the 
hand was missing. 

2 . 

The silence was almost painful. Hugh wondered how 
long it would last. Suddenly Paul Vulning pointed to the 
empty table with a cry. 


312 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“The system! It has vanished.” 

Swift as a flash Doctor Bergius looked down. Then 
he rushed to the window. 

“Quick,” he shouted, “I saw some one leap from the 
terrace. All of you in pursuit. We must recover it 
at all cost.” 

He dashed out, Vulning, Castelli and the three others 
following him. From the darkness Hugh heard shots 
and much shouting. 

“Scatter. Search the garden. Fire only if you’re 
sure.” 

They had all gone. He was alone with Margot. He 
tried to see her, to go to her. He twisted around and 
tumbled from his chair. 

Could he believe his ears? As he lay face down he heard 
a voice address him. 

“Quick, sir. I’m goin’ to cut the ropes.” 

It was old Bob Bender. He cut and slashed to such 
good purpose that in a moment Hugh and Margot were 
both free. 

“There’s not a moment to lose,” whispered Bob. 
“They’re hunting out in front but they may return any 
minute. You must escape by the back. Come, I’ll 
show you the way. Buck up, missy, you’ve got to make 
an effort.” 

Hugh supported the girl, and Bob piloted them along 
the dark hallway. At the foot of a flight of stairs Bob 
opened a door. The pure air of the mountain caressed 
their faces. 

“Take to the woods,” whispered Bob. “Climb high, 
make a wide circle. I’ll slip back and get that paper you 
wrote. Then I’ll join them in the hunt. Good luck to 
you. Krantz is a wonder. The Casino is saved.” 


THE VORTEX 


313 


3. 

Taking the girl’s hand Hugh led her through the dark- 
ness, down a narrow flight of stone steps, and along a 
steep pathway amid the shrubbery. He heard sounds of 
the pursuit from the other side of the house and once the 
sharp crack of a revolver. Once too, some one came pant- 
ing along the pathway towards them. He had scarcely 
time to pull Margot into the deep shadow of the bushes 
before a burly form pounded past. Trembling and terri- 
fied the girl clung to him until the footsteps were drowned 
in silence. 

Once more he dragged her on. At the end of the path- 
way, they came to a small door set in the high wall, se- 
cured by a rusted bolt that at first resisted all his efforts. 
Suddenly it shot back, and they found themselves on the 
mountain side. 

From the door a steep trail led to higher altitudes, 
and up this he hurried her. Rocks tripped them, and 
thorny bushes clutched at them, but spurred by fear they 
stumbled on. Even when the tiny donkey-path faded out 
and they found themselves on the raw and ragged flanks of 
the mountain, they continued to climb and climb. 

Several times he thought Margot was going to give out, 
but a few words from him inspired her with a new 
courage. In the last of these pauses he listened 
acutely. The silence was absolute. They must be safe by 
now. They had been climbing for nearly an hour. He 
urged her to make one more effort, but she was unequal to 
it and entirely collapsed. 

Lifting her in his arms he carried her to where a huge 
overhanging boulder formed a shallow shelter and laid 
her down. Resting her head on his knee, he covered her 


314 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


with his coat. Then with his back to the rock he waited 
for the daylight. 

With the first brightening of the dove-grey sky he saw 
that they had climbed further than he had reckoned. 
They were on the slope beneath the Tete-du-Chien ; above 
them towered the great bluff, its beetling front steel grey, 
stained with cinnamon, and around them, as if the greater 
gods had pelted it in sport, huge boulders heaped in fan- 
tastic confusion. Below them the olive groves were sa- 
turnine; the roofs of the Condamine a sullen crimson, 
and the sea’s immense tranquillity painted with a pale 
fire. 

He looked down at the white face, pillowed on shining 
hair. Poor girl! How desperately exhausted she must 
be. Her sleep had been troubled by fits of trembling ; and 
dry nervous sobs had awakened her half a dozen times. 
He had soothed her with assurances of safety. He aroused 
her gently and pointed to the brightening sky. 

“Look!” 

“But you are chilled through,” she said. “You are 
shivering. You should not have given me your 
coat.” 

They rose stiffly, their faces haggard in the dawn. 
Slowly and painfully they descended the mountain. 

“What happened,” he asked, “that night? . . .” 

“I don’t know. I never understood. It was very late ; 
I heard a noise in the professor’s room and tried his door; 
it opened. All was dark. There was a curious smell. 
Again I heard a noise. I was afraid he was ill. I hurried 
to his assistance. Some one caught me from behind, and 
a hand covered my mouth. I struggled, but I had no 
power. They bound and gagged me. Just as we were 
going away one of them flashed an electric torch on the 


THE VORTEX 315 

floor. I saw the professor lying face downward. It was 
horrible. . . .” 

“Yes, I know. They killed the poor old man. But 
what after that?” 

“A very strong man carried me in his arms; we de- 
scended from the window by a rope ladder. Below they 
had a closed-in car. We went up among the mountains, 
before we stopped at a lonely house. They lifted me down, 
and carried me to a room. I was locked in, a prisoner. 
Oh, they treated me well enough. There was a peasant 
woman who brought me my food and was kind to me. But 
the time was long, for I was terrified, and so anxious 
about you. I thought I should go mad. Then last night 
they put me in the car again, and brought me down. You 
know the rest.” 

“What shall we do now? I suppose we had better go 
back to our room.” 

She shook her head. “Nothing can make me spend an- 
other night there. The very idea horrifies me. No, I 
want to go far away from here, very far. If you don’t 
mind, I will get my things, stay at a hotel to-night, and 
to-morrow morning leave for Paris.” 

“I quite understand. But . . . how about that cottage 
at Villefranche? Won’t you come there with me?” 

Again she shook her head. “No, not now. . . 

“Once you wanted to.” 

“Once, yes. Once I had a dream. . . . That’s finished 
now. I’ve been a foolish girl. I did lots of thinking when 
I was alone up there, and I see my way clear. It’s a 
lonely way but perhaps I’ll have my share of happiness. 
Yes, I’d better go.” 

He felt that she was right, and did not try to dissuade 
her. 


316 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“At any rate,” he said, “you’ll let me lend you that 
money, the two thousand we had such a fuss over?” 

“Yes, I’ll borrow it gladly, and I’ll pay you back. I 
bless you for all you’ve done for me. . . .” 

Next morning he saw her off at the station. As she 
leaned from the window of a third class carriage she tried 
hard to keep back her tears. He remembered their arri- 
val at this same station, and how he had followed her. He 
would miss her painfully. A last handclasp and the train 
bore her away. A loneliness came over him that was al- 
most a heartache. 

“That ends another chapter,” he said to himself. “Per- 
haps I’ll never see her again. Ah! little girl, may the 
gods bless you and make you happy.” 

\nd with that he went sadly away. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


AN INTERLUDE 


1 . 

A BOUT the end of May he bought the cottage 
near Villefranche. It had pinkish walls that drip- 
ped roses and a long generous garden dropping to 
the beach. There he had a little boat pulled up on the 
shingle and lay for long hours in its shadow, watching 
the dreamy glimmer of the sea, and listening to the musi- 
cal plash of the waves. The velvet monotony of sea and 
sky tranquillized his spirit. 

He used to rise at four every morning, and work in his 
garden through the cool hours ; then go for a swim in the 
bay, floating lazily on the milk-warm water, blinking at 
the brightness of the sun. In the evenings he would fish 
from his boat, pulling softly home in the starlight. He 
became soaked with sunshine, as brown as any of his peas- 
ant neighbours, and just as carelessly happy. He learned 
to look on life with quiet eyes. 

It was pleasant to think that he could go on like this 
for twenty years. He needed so little; his garden sup- 
plied him with fruit and vegetables, the sea with fish. By 
selling some of his produce and keeping chickens and 
rabbits, he could make the place self-supporting. He- 
had infinite time to dream and paint. If he painted pa- 
tiently and sincerely during twenty years surely he could: 
achieve something. 

This was the future he sketched out for himself. One 
317 


318 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


thing was lacking; he missed Margot. If only she were 
there, it seemed to him his happiness would be complete. 

But she was back at work with Folette. She had taken 
her old room again, the little mansard room, overlooking 
the Boulevard Montparnasse. She wrote to him quite 
often, and always that she was very happy. 

Often as he lingered in his garden, he would look up and 
imagine her standing in the doorway of the cottage in a 
frame of roses. She seemed to complete the picture so 
perfectly. What a pity she was not there. Well, one 
can’t have everything. True, he might ask her to marry 
him. But the idea of marriage dismayed him ; it seemed so 
irrevocable. Romance ended there, he told himself. He 
was only twenty-three and a life-time is long to spend with 
one woman. An early marriage is a mistake, so every one 
said. He missed her companionship awfully, but there! 
* . . no doubt in time he would get used to the loss of her ! 

2 . 

It was curious how far away Monte Carlo seemed. Un- 
familiar mountains heaved up behind him; another topaz 
hoop separated him from the gloomy rock and the 
glittering point. Sometimes he would sail his little boat 
far out, and from the shadow of his sail, watch the 
poisoned paradise. It seemed to him like a dream picture, 
rising in terraced beauty from the azure of the sea. 
The Casino glittered like a heap of jewels, and the moun- 
tains brooded in violet abstraction. All was loveliness, — 
creamy beach and cradled harbour, palms and olive groves, 
snowy villas gleaming in green gardens, and shining slopes 
of pine. He gazed at it with rapture, — then shuddered at 
the thought of all that lay behind. 


THE VORTEX 


319 


For Monte Carlo may be all things to all men, the most 
adorable spot in the world or the most hateful. And to 
him, filled with the moral strength that is born of peace, 
the place was increasingly detestable. Its beauty was the 
fatal beauty of a glorious courtesan, its people parasites 
living on the folly and depravity of mankind. From 
prince to page-boy they were dependent on that great 
temple of chance into which poured streams of gold from 
all the world. Its white range of palaces were to him 
the symbol of all that was weak and wanton in human, 
nature. 

As he sat in the shadow of his sail he recalled them all 
so plainly, the spendthrift and the starveling, the derelict 
and the degenerate, swirling round in the eternal circle 
of that greater wheel which symbolizes the whole, unable 
to extricate themselves, being drawn nearer and nearer to 
that vortex which is ruin. 

He detested it all now and saw it with other eyes. He 
had escaped its lures. Never again would he set foot in 
its polluted halls. 

Then one day a shadow fell across his path and looking 
up he saw Bob Bender. 

3. 

Bob, rusty and creaky as ever, looked singularly out of 
place in his radiant garden. 

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, rubbing his hands together 
with a rasping sound, “for interruptin’ your horticultur- 
ous provocations.” 

“Not at all. Glad to see you.” 

“Thank you, sir. You’ve got a tidy sorto’ place ’ere. 
Now if I was you I’d bank up that celery a little more, 
an’ them artichokes want cuttin’ back. Awful things arti- 


820 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


chokes is to grow on you, if you gives ’em a chance.” 

<f What do you know about gardening?” 

“Most all there is to know, I expect, considerin’ that I 
was once in that way myself. Indeed I ’opes some day, if 
ever I can scrape up enough money, to buy a little place 
I know out ’Ampstead way. But there, I didn’t come 
’ere to talk of gardens ; I came over on quite another mat- 
ter. Krantz sent me.” 

“Krantz !” 

“Yes. You see that Doctor Bergius ’as got something 
up ’is sleeve. We can’t quite make ’im out. ’E’s a great 
one, ’e is. There ain’t a greater international crook on 
the Continent to-day. ’E was ragin’ mad because Krantz 
got the system away from ’im, and now ’e swears ’e’ll 
get even, and do the Casino one in the eye.” 

“That reminds me,” said Hugh. “What happened that 
night after we got away?” 

“Oh, they thought you’d got at a knife with your free 
’and and cut the ropes. I joined the chase and ’eaded 
’em in the wrong direction. You see my bein’ with Vul- 
ning was an idea of Krantz’s. He suspected that Vul- 
ning ’ad the papers and got me to approach ’im. I pre- 
tended I’d fallen out with Krantz; and after a bit Vul- 
ning told me ’e ’ad the papers. It was me suggested ’e 
get you to translate ’em. Krantz was to come to your 
rescue. But we didn’t bargain on the other gang. How- 
ever, it came off all right.” 

“What do you want of me now?” 

“Well, you see, I’m no longer in the confidence of that 
crowd. The doctor distrusted me from the first. There 
was the business of the window for one thing. Why didn’t 
I ’appen to fasten it properly? Anyhow they won’t ’ave 
anything to do with me now ; and I can’t get to the bottom 


THE VORTEX 


321 


of the game they are playin’. But I do know they are 
’avin’ an important meetin’ to-morrow at Vulning’s villa. 
It’s at two o’clock. There will only be Vulning and the 
doctor and Castelli. Now we were thinkin’ if we could 
get Vulning out of the way, and you could take his 
place. . . 

“What !” 

“It’s really very simple, sir. You see you’re so ex- 
traordinary like ’im any way. Just a touch of make-up 
and you’d be perfect. We’ll give you a key to the villa 
and you can change into some of ’is clothes and receive 
the other two in the library. You can close the curtains 
and darken the room. Then you’ll deceive them, ’ear their 
plans and let us know.” 

“But I’m risking my life. ... If these fellows sus- 
pect, they’ll shoot me like a dog.” 

“It’s true there’s a lot of risk; but Krantz says ’e’ll 
pay you ten thousand francs if you get the information 
’e wants.” 

“I’d rather not. I swore I’d never set foot in the Prin- 
cipality again.” 

“Krantz says that, if ever ’e asked a favour of you, 
you promised you’d do it.” 

“That’s true. . . . Well, tell Krantz . . . I’ll do it.” 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


C 


THE PLOT 

HER COMER ADE: 

There is something which weighs on me and 
of which I have been trying to write to you 
since several days. 

You have heard me speak of Florent Garnier. Twice 
has he asked me in marriage , and a week ago he sought me 
out and demand me for the third time. 

He is more prosperous than ever. He has a grand 
auto, and a villa near the forest of St. Germain. On 
Sunday with- Jeanne we drive out to see it, and it is truly 
charming. Only he says he is so lonely there all by him- 
self. . . . 

What am I to do? I think I am the most unhappy girl 
in all Paris. It is a great chance for me, and Madame 
Folette,. Jeanne and the girls tell me I am crazy to refuse. 
Which is quite true because I am all alone in the life. . . . 

I do not ask your advice because I know you will tell 
me to take him too, and I don’t like when you do that. 
All the same I thing you are right, and this time it is for 
the best that I shall tell him ... Yes. 

I hope you are well, and happy, and think of you very, 
very often. 

Yotre petite soeur adoptee, 

y Margot. 

Florent wishes we marry on the seventeenth September 
so that in that day you must think of me and wish me 
happiness.” 


322 


THE VORTEX 


323 


It was quarter past one when Hugh received this letter ; 
it was half past when he jumped into the carmine car and 
told the chauffeur to drive him to Vulning’s villa. 

“Keep to the blind side of that chap and he’ll never 
know you,” Bob Bender had said. “What with Vulning’s 
coat and hat and them yellow glasses he’s wearin’ lately 
any one would take you for his twin brother. The chauf- 
feur’s had one or two drinks too much anyway, — we’ve 
seen to that. ’E’ll ’ave all ’is time taken up lookin’ after 
’is car.” 

“And Vulning?” 

“We’ve got ’im safe. You see there’s a little girl he’s 
been after for some time. Mrs. Emslie’s daughter wot 
committed suicide. She’s workin’ as a nurse girl ; but she 
won’t ’ave anything to do with ’im. Well, we got ’er to 
send ’im a note sayin’ she’d meet ’im at one o’clock in a 
room in a certain ’otel that’s a bit out of the way. ’E 
came all right; and, while he waited for her, we simply 
locked ’im in. ’E’s there now, ’ammerin’ at the door and 
ragin’ like a madman. We won’t let ’im out till you get 
back.” 

“I’m feeling nervous.” 

“Don’t be afraid. With that touch of make-up you’re 
as like ’im as two peas. You’ll fool ’em all right. ’Ere’s 
a key to the front door. Now run and jump into the car 
as if you were in a ’urry. Take this. It will steady 
you.” 

Hugh took the small flask of brandy that Bender 
handed to him, walked quickly to the car and leaped in. 
The chauffeur did not even look at him. He touched the 
button that started the motor, moved into gear and the 
car shot forward. 

As Hugh left the town below him his uneasiness in- 


324 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


creased. His excitement seemed to mount with the mount- 
ing road, his heart pounded like the straining motor of the 
car that bore him on. He took a pull at the brandy flask, 
and felt better. 

They were now among the olive trees and still climbing. 
A sleepy quiet brooded around them. When they drew 
near the solitary house Hugh wanted to leap out and 
make for safety, but it was too late to draw back. 

As the chauffeur drove the car around to the garage, 
Hugh mounted the front steps and opened the door. A 
rush of stale air met him. The hallway was dark and 
dirty. Vulning did not seem to have a caretaker and 
probably only slept there once in a while. The rooms lead- 
ing off the hall were shuttered and dark. Hugh went into 
the library, threw back the shutters and unclasped 
the window. The light leaped in like a wild thing. He 
looked carefully out of the window. It gave on the 
terrace with a balustrade about three feet high. Relow 
was the road leading to the garage, and beyond that 
dense shrubbery. He closed the window without clasping 
it, then drew the heavy curtains, plunging the room in 
mysterious gloom. 

Once more he went out into the unlighted hall. How 
quiet and dark the house was ! His footsteps awakened 
echoes everywhere. He went upstairs to where a door, 
slightly open, showed a chink of light. It appeared to be 
Yulning’s bedroom. The bed was unmade, the room un- 
tidy. He took off his overcoat and drew on a dressing- 
gown he found lying over a chair. On the tiny table at 
the head of the bed was a small automatic pistol. Seeing 
that it was loaded, he put it into his pocket. 

He felt horribly “funky,” but a glance in the mirror re- 
assured him. His sunburnt skin had been made up to re- 


THE VORTEX 


325 


semble Vulning’s sallow one; little crowsfeet were round 
his eyes, and cynical lines about his mouth. His hair was 
parted in the middle and brushed back like Vulning’s. 
When he put on Vulning’s yellow glasses it would have 
taken a very clever man indeed to detect the substitution. 
If only his confounded nervousness would not give him 
away ! He wound a silk muffler around his neck, noting 
as he did so how his hands trembled. That would never 
do ! He took another big swig at the brandy flask. 
Courage glowed in him, even to the point of recklessness. 
He was ready to go down and face them. 

As he descended the stairway somewhat unsteadily he 
saw that his guests were already awaiting him. How 
quietly they had come in! He had not heard them. 
Golaz and Gamba were in the hall and glowered at him 
with fierce and restless eyes as he passed. In the darkened 
library Castelli and the doctor were talking in low tones, 
bending over the table on which lay a large plan. They 
turned as he entered. 

Hugh shivered as he shook the large hairy hand of 
Doctor Bergius. How he hated this man. Those deep 
set eyes were profound with cruelty; that dense blue- 
black beard concealed a face that might be that of a fiend 
incarnate ; his large fleshy lips of a bright unnatural red, 
set in that black beard, gave a singularly repulsive impres- 
sion. When he smiled it was with a grin, callous, relent- 
less, orientally cruel. 

He smiled now, and Hugh was glad of his yellow gog- 
gles. They concealed the fact that his eyes were black 
instead of blue. He was glad, too, of the drawn heavy 
curtain. It seemed to him that even with all his precau- 
tions Doctor Bergius was regarding him with a curious 
fixity. 


326 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Ah, young man/ ; he said in his metallic voice, “you 
have kept us waiting. There is so much to be done and 
we have so little time. Castelli, close that door.” 

Hugh nodded sullenly. He dared not trust himself to 
speak. Once again Doctor Bergius regarded him curi- 
ously. He did not seem satisfied. He went up to Hugh 
and stared at him very hard. Hugh’s heart began to 
thump. 

“I am discovered,” he thought, and his hand went to 
his pistol. 

But the Doctor turned away with an expression of 
contempt. “Pah!” he said. “You’ve been drinking again. 
I hbpe you’re not off on one of your bouts.” 

Hugh shook his head. He affected a certain surly stu- 
pidity. “No, no, doctor,” he said thickly, “only a touch 
ot brandy. Got sore throat. Caught a chill on the golf 
course. Felt shaky. Took it to steady me, clear my 
head.” 

“Well, it must be the last until to-morrow evening. 
Aftei that you can go to the devil your own way. Prom- 
ise me that now, — the last.” 

Hugh nodded sulkily. 

“That is understood. Your part in the programme is 
a small one, but important. You must have all your 
wits about you. If you fail you may throw out the whole 
plan.” 

“All right. I’ll keep off the stuff.” 

“Good. Now to business. Look! . . . Here’s a plan 
of the Casino.” 

Hugh showed an eager interest. In order to see it bet- 
ter he edged round to the side of the table nearest the 
window. He had Doctor Bergius on his right, on his left 
Castelli. The plan showed the entire ground floor of the 


THE VORTEX 


327 

Casino, the different rooms, the entrances, the windows, 
even the tables. Here and there were traced lines and 
figures in red, with names in Italian. 

“You already have an idea,” went on Doctor Bergius, 
“of what the great plan is. It is something unheard of, 
unthought of, magnificent in its audacity. Only a man 
of genius could have imagined it, perfected it in all its de- 
tail. Only one man living could have done it. That man 
is myself. It is what the Americans call a ‘hold up.’ 
We propose to hold up the Casino .” 

Here the doctor paused to give effect to his words, 
then continued: 

“To do that, you realize, is a project of the greatest 
gravity. But I have arranged everything; and it should 
go like clockwork. In the first place we need lots of men. 
I have a band of about sixty, all desperate characters, re- 
cruited from the slums of Genoa. They are supposed to 
be a touring athletic club, all wear the same caps and 
ties. You may have noticed some of them already. They 
have been here for some days and have visited the Casino 
in the morning when it is open to all visitors. Besides 
this we have secured admission cards for about a score of 
them. They know the ground. Every man has his part 
and is drilled in it. Each is of proved and desperate 
courage, will carry two six-chambered revolvers, and 
know how to use them. Ah, my friend, it is a marvellous 
conception. You should have been present at our re- 
hearsals.” 

“What is my part?” 

“Your part, my dear Vulning, is very simple. We have 
got a day ticket for you in the name of a Swedish gentle- 
man. You will wear a heavy blonde beard and be com- 
pletely disguised. This is for your sake. You see with 


328 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


what consideration we treat you. At six o’clock in the 
evening you will enter the Casino. That is the hour of 
affluence when all the tables are working, and the visitors 
have left their money behind. There should be several 
million francs in sight.” 

Here the doctor paused and rubbed his hands crisply. 

“But before going any further, I will explain my ideas 
as to the division of the spoil. Each of our men has been 
promised five thousand francs. For that they would risk 
their lives a dozen times. Golaz and Gamba are to have a 
hundred thousand francs each. You and Castelli will 
have five hundred thousand. I w T ill be modestly contented 
with whatever is left. Is that understood?” 

Castelli nodded. Hugh followed suit. 

“Agreed. Now, Yulning, for your role ! You enter the 
Casino, I say, at six o’clock precisely, disguised as a 
Swede. You go straight to the table next to the refresh- 
ment room. It has been arranged that a man will rise 
and give you a place. You will sit for a few minutes, then 
suddenly, . . the doctor paused, and took from his 
pocket a revolver, “you will rise to your feet. You will 
take this from your pocket, and, holding it to your head, 
you will fire. . . . Ah ! my friend Yulning, don’t start. It 
will only be loaded with a blank cartridge. It will do you 
no harm. Then having fired you will collapse and slip 
undei the table. That’s all you have to do for five hun- 
dred thousand francs. Easy, isn’t it?” 

“And what happens then?” 

“What happens then? . . .” Doctor Bergius raised 
both hands exultantly. “Ha! I will tell you. That is 
the signal. Every one in the rooms will hear the shot 
and rush to the table. You know them. They will crowd 
around and push and jostle. They will want to get a 


THE VORTEX 


329 


giimpse of the suicide. There will be a mob. The attend- 
ants will be making frantic efforts to get out the body. 
Every one’s attention will be distracted. . . . Then it is 
that things will begin to happen.” 

Doctor Bergius grew more and more impressive. 

“We will have a dozen of our own men in the small 
room with the Opium Dream on the ceiling. Behold! it 
will be empty but for them. Every one else will have run 
to see the suicide. Only the croupiers will have remained 
at their po§ts. Everything will be easy. Six of our men 
will hold up the croupiers while the others throw open the 
windows. If you remember, there are four windows giving 
on the terrace near the band-stand. My men will be 
waiting down below. They will swarm up. To protect 
them I will have a cordon of men running down to the 
sea. There I will have waiting also two very fast steam 
launches.” 

The doctor seemed to see it all. He spoke as a man in- 
spired. 

“After that it will be easy. A rush, a great drive. We 
will sweep them all before us. They will be like frightened 
sheep. Think of it! There will be forty of us all armed 
to the teeth. Can’t you see them flying before us? We 
will herd them all into the refreshment room. Castelli with 
twenty men will control the main rooms ; Golaz with ten 
men will take the long room that gives on the terrace; 
Gamba with another ten will attend to the salon prive. 
We will shoot down any one that shows the least sign of 
resistance. There will be panic, confusion, terror. We 
will pen the croupiers in corners at the revolver’s point. 
Castelli, Golaz and Gamba will run to the tables and 
scoop the big notes into bags. We only want the big 
bills.” 


330 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Hold on!” said Hugh. “What about the mechanism 
that automatically locks the coffers?” 

“We’ve seen to that. An electrician in our pay has 
put it out of action. Everything has been thought of. 
In five minutes it will all be over. We will then gather in a 
band under the big dome, fire a final volley over the heads 
of the crowd and beat a retreat. Then we will drop from 
the windows, run to the beach, tumble into the waiting 
launches and ho ! for Italy. It will all be over before any 
one realizes what has happened. Magnificent, isn’t it?” 

“And what about me?” 

“Ah, my dear Monsieur Vulning, do not worry about 
your precious self. Yours is the easiest part to play. 
You will, of course, beat a retreat with us. We will put 
you ashore at St. Remo if you wish. You can then re- 
move your disguise and return here. No one will even sus- 
pect you. . . .” Again Doctor Rergius looked at him 
curiously. 

“I believe you are a coward, Vulning. Look here, 
Castelli will go through your part just to show you. I 
have here some blank cartridges. See ! I charge the re- 
volver. Now, Castelli. . . 

Castelli stood up by the table. He held the revolver 
about three feet from his head and fired. Then he dropped 
to the floor and remained there, grinning up at Hugh. 

“FoiZa,” said the doctor. “That’s all. No risk for you. 
You lie snug under the table and watch events. Easy, 
isn’t it? Ah, the whole conception is superb, the work of 
a man of genius. • . . Listen! . . The doctor stopped 
suddenly, grew tense, alert. “What’s that? Who’s 
out there with Golaz and Gamba?” 

Hugh, too, was listening. He heard excited voices and 
steps coming down the hall. He trembled and as he 


THE VORTEX 


331 


reached out for support his hand touched an inkwell made 
out of the fuse of an old German shell. The next instant 
the door was flung violently open and a man entered. 

It was Paul Vulning. 


CHAPTER NINE 


THE HOLD-UP 


1 . 

“T TOLD him! Hold the impostor!” cried Vulning. 

Hugh dashed the brass inkwell at the head 
of Doctor Bergius. The doctor collapsed over 
the table. Castelli, who was still on the floor in a crouch- 
ing position, clutched at Hugh’s leg. Hugh launched a 
vicious kick and caught him on the jaw. With one bound, 
he was behind the crimson curtains, and out on the terrace. 
He leaped the balustrade and plunged into the shrubbery. 
Madly he tore on. About fifty yards away was a high 
wall. He leaped at it desperately. His hands just 
clutched the coping, and he hung, slipping and scraping, 
feeling for a foothold. Then his toe caught in a tiny pro- 
jection, and in another moment he had drawn himself up. 

Spat! Spat! went the plaster of the wall. . . . They 
were firing at him as they ran. Golaz and Gamba came 
plunging through the bushes. They were appallingly 
near. The top of the wall was covered with bits of broken 
glass that caught his dressing-gown, as he leaped down 
on the other side. As he tried to wrench it free, a, 
brown hand reached over and gripped it. With a twist 
and a turn, Hugh wriggled out of it. His pistol fell from 
the pocket. He snatched it up and rushed on. 

A few yards further he darted behind an ancient olive 
tree and looked back. Gamba was already astride of the 

332 


THE VORTEX 


333 


wall. Hugh fired twice and he saw the man drop back. 
Then he ran blindly on, taking the terraces of olive trees 
in reckless leaps, often landing on his knees. At 
length he came out on the mountain side amid boulders 
and prickly scrub. He dodged among the rocks, and 
cowered behind the bushes. He was torn and bleeding in a 
dozen places, and his clothes were in shreds. Presently 
he sank exhausted. 

For over an hour he lay without moving. Everything 
was quiet; they had evidently given up the pursuit. He 
rose and by a round-about route he made his way back to 
the Casino. 

Bob Bender was waiting for him on the steps. He 
looked anxious and excited. He dragged Hugh through 
a side door. 

“Quick! tell me what’s happened. You’re in a hell of a 
state. We were afraid they’d got you.” 

“Didn’t you know? . . . Vulning has escaped.” 

“No!” 

“Yes, he arrived at an awkward moment for me. I’ve 
had to jolly well risk my life for your people.” 

“Vulning must have got out by the window. It was 
over thirty feet from the ground. We never thought of 
guarding that. He must have made a desperate effort. 
. . . Well, did you discover anything?” 

“All.” 

“The devil! Quick! Tell me. How pleased the chief 
will be r 

“There’s a hold-up of the Casino planned for to-morrow 
night.” 

“A hold-up !” 

“Yes. They’ve got over sixty gunmen. Vulning’s to 
give the signal by shooting himself with a blank cartridge. 


334 THE POISONED PARADISE 

The men are to swarm up by the windows of the small 
room facing the band-stand. They have two fast steam 
launches to make their getaw T ay in.” 

“It was planned for to-morrow at six, you say?” 

“To-morrow at six.” 

“They’ll never try it now. We’ve got them beaten, 
thanks to you. It has taken you a long time to get 
here.” 

“Over two hours.” 

“More. Look, it’s nearly six now.” 

“I had to make a big detour to avoid them.” 

“Well, there’s no time to lose. They may try to-mor- 
row after all; we must be prepared. Oh, won’t the chief 
be pleased! We must try to find him. He’s in the Casino 
somewhere. He has many disguises. Come. . . .” Bob 
peered everywhere, but could see no sign of Krantz. 

“Let’s look at the windows they mean to swarm up,” 
suggested Bob. The two men pulled aside the yellow 
blinds and looked down. The ledge was broad and the 
height not great. 

“Easy enough,” commented Bob. “By getting into the 
bandstand a dozen men could command the whole terrace. 
The plan’s been well considered, but we’ll fix it so as it 
can never be carried out. We’ve got you beaten, Mister 
Bergius. . . . God! What’s that?” 

Hugh looked to where Bob was pointing. On the calm 
sea, lying close in, were two long steam launches. They 
manoeuvred up and down, until they were hidden by the 
terrace. 

“Did you see them, or did I dream?” 

“No, its them . . . them \ ” 

A sudden fear seized Bob Bender. He looked up at the 
clock. 


THE VORTEX 335 

“Just on the stroke of six. If only Krantz were here. 
I wonder . . .” 

The two men stared at one another, and even as they 
stared, a sudden shot rang out. 

Bob Bender gripped Hugh by the arm and cried 
hoarsely : “Hear that ! the signal ! They've advanced 
the time by twenty-four hours . If I'm not mistaken the 
‘ hold-up ' is now on .” 

2 . 

They turned swiftly. The people at the table had 
left their places, and grabbing their stakes, were running 
in the direction of the sound. Only the croupiers sat still. 
These looked at one another in a rather uncomfortable 
way. 

“Come,” said Hugh, “I want to see if it’s really Vul- 
ning.” 

He ran after the others. The crowd was so dense, it 
w r as impossible to get near the victim. Hugh saw the 
lackeys struggling to extricate a limp form from under 
the table. The faces of the crowd wore a mixture of 
curiosity and awe; they pushed and jostled shamelessly, 
to get a glimpse of the suicide. The inspector, the floor 
director and the director of games hurried to the scene. 
It had been a long time since a suicide had taken place 
at the tables. It would make a nasty scandal. 

“ C'est tres embetant," Hugh heard one of them say. 
He saw a lackey arrive with a black sheet to cover the 
corpse. Then a woman pushed her way out of the 
crowd; she was in a hysterical state. 

“I saw him do it,” she cried. “I was sitting beside him. 
It was a big blonde man, a Swede, I think.” 

“Look *” said Hugh, suddenly gripping Bob’s arm. 


336 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“It’s true. There they come.” Almost simultaneously 
there were a dozen revolver shots, and a bunch of 
croupiers tumbled from the smaller salon, their hands in 
the air, their faces sick with fear. 

“This- is no place for me,” said Bob Bender. “They’ll 
shoot me at sight. I’m willing to work for the Casino, 
but I’m not willing to lose an inch of my skin for them.” 

Bob disappeared and not a moment too soon. Hell 
seemed to have broken loose. With a rush and a roar 
a score of men burst from the small salon. They whooped 
as they ran, brandishing revolvers and firing in the air. 
Their swarthy faces were lit by the savage joy of combat. 
They drove every one before them; if a croupier showed 
a sign of resisting he was felled with the butt of a heavy 
revolver. But few of the croupiers resisted ; most of them 
ran like rabbits, diving under the tables. 

All was pandemonium. Women shrieked and fainted; 
there was a general struggle to get to the doors. Hugh 
could not move; he was wedged in a mob of players who 
fought and roared and cursed, as they backed away from 
the bandits. 

Then in the midst of the mad tumult, hushing and 
dominating it, a harsh metallic voice rang out. “There 
is no danger so long as no one resists. Go quickly, all of 
you, and leave the rooms empty.” 

It was Doctor Bergius. He was standing on the table 
to the right, an automatic in either hand. Around his 
head was bound a white bandage. Suddenly Hugh heard 
a report near him. A croupier had put his hand on the 
metal box where the big notes were kept ; he collapsed in- 
stantly, shot in the head by Castelli. 

Hugh was forced with the crowd into the refreshment 
room. He could still see swarthy ruffians pouring from 


THE VORTEX 337 

the small salon and hear shrieks, shots, howls of excite- 
ment. 

The centre of the Casino had been cleared, hundreds of 
players had been driven into the atrium, hundreds of 
others penned in the refreshment room. Doctor Bergius 
still stood there, while Castelli and two others looted 
the tables. The band that had worked the private 
rooms came running back with their booty. They were 
joined almost immediately by the gang that had been pil- 
laging the main rooms. With revolvers in hands, they 
formed a solid mass, their eyes flashing, their teeth gleam- 
ing ferociously. The voice of Doctor Bergius again rang 
out : 

“Stay where you are, all of you. We have men posted 
to command the crowd. If one of you moves from his 
place before a full ten minutes has passed he will be shot. 
This is a solemn warning.” 

The doctor leaped down, and his men followed him, 
firing as they went. 

Hugh edged through the crowd ; he wanted to see what 
was happening. The last of the rear guard had disap- 
peared into the smaller salon. Through the open doorway 
he saw r them descending by the window. No one had as 
yet dared to move. Yes, there was one , a woman. Hugh 
saw her run in from the atrium, and marvelled at her 
daring. Then he recognized her. It was the tall woman 
who always dressed in grey. As she crossed the thresh- 
old of the small salon, she fired at the two men who 
were balanced on the sill ; they swung around and returned 
the fire. Hugh recognized Castelli and the doctor. Then 
they, too, disappeared and the woman in grey lay still on 
the floor. 

Everything was quiet, impressively quiet. The ten min- 


338 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


utes were up but still no one was inclined to move. Hugh 
was the first to break the spell. He ran across the empty 
hall to the nearest open window. Two launches were 
steaming away. All was over now. The grand coup had 
been successful. When he turned back, the lackeys were 
carrying the veiled woman into one of the private rooms. 
Suddenly Hugh remembered the supposed suicide. He ran 
into the grand salon. The body still lay under the table. 
He bent down and examined it. It was Vulning; the false 
blonde beard was crimsoned with blood, and his head was 
blown open. The revolver had been loaded with a real ball. 
The poor devil had put an end to his own life. Doctor 
Bergius had seen to it that he had saved them his share 
of the swag. What a joker the doctor was! 

3. 

Hugh was sitting in his garden the following afternoon 
when Bob Bender came to see him. He counted out ten 
bills of a thousand francs each. 

“There! if we failed it was through no fault of yours. 
You’ve earned this. Now we want you to go away for 
awhile, disappear somewhere. We want to hush the whole 
thing up, choke off all inquiries.” 

“All right. By the way, what about that poor woman 
who was shot?” 

“Oh, she’s all right? They only winged her. She 
dropped to avoid further injury. But then I shouldn’t 
say ‘she.’ Do you know who that was?” 

“No.” 

“Krantz.” 

“The devil!” 

“Yes, I was suprised myself. He’s been spying on the 


THE VORTEX 


839 


gang for months. He’ll be all right in a few weeks.” 

“I’m glad. I liked Krantz. I say, you don’t need to 
be afraid of my blabbing anything. But I don’t see how 
you are going to hush up a thing like that. How are you 
going to account for it?” 

Bob grinned. 

“We’re giving out that it was the rehearsal of a cinema 
production.” 

“Well, I’ll be hanged ! ... All right. I’ll make my- 
self scarce. I’ll shove off somewhere this very night.” 

And three hours later he was on the boat bound for 
Corsica. 


END OF BOOK FOUR 




BOOK FIVE 


The Man Hunt 


























CHAPTER ONE 


THE VALLEY OF THE GOLO 


1 . 

I N the glimmer of early dawn, the big boat swung 
slowly into the harbour. Under the lightening sky 
the steel grey waters changed to steel blue; and the 
dark mysterious land smiled into friendliness. The grey 
cubes piled against the mountain brightened into tall 
houses still locked in sleep. Presently, with a fore-glow 
of citron, the clear rim of the sun cut the sea-line; and 
the sea became jade green. The air was diamond pure; 
the mountains took on colour; and Bastia awakened to an- 
other careless day. 

High caserne-like houses, massive-walled and stucco- 
fronted; shabby shops half a century behind the times; 
mustiness and age; cigarettes, vendetta knives, and goat- 
flesh, — these were some of Hugh’s first impressions of 
Bastia. 

He found a room in a tall hotel near the upper end of 
the town. It had vast rambling corridors with many 
doors, none of which were numbered, and to find his room 
he had to count each time the doorways from the head of 
the staircase. The interiors of all the rooms were alike 
in their simplicity. Each had high yellow walls, and a 
ceiling painted with a design of flowers and fruit, a bed, 
a commode with water- jug, two cane bottomed chairs. 
Bastia soon bored Hugh. It’s streets seemed gloomy 
343 


344 THE POISONED PARADISE 

and sordid, its people sunk in tradition. There was noth- 
ing to do. The first morning he wandered up and down 
buying the numerous brands of local cigarettes. In 
the afternoon he craved a cup of tea, but it seemed to be 
unknown. Finally at a big cafe he found a brew which 
tasted like tisane . A single gulp sufficed. 

At his hotel the food was very bad. The place was run 
on casual lines by a family of Corsicans, swarthy, hairy, 
oily, with a suavity that signified nothing. At his 
special request they procured him butter, but it looked so 
much like axle-grease that he did not have the courage to 
discover what it tasted like. At dinner he had a ragout 
of very young lamb that tasted quite good, until the 
smallness of the bones suggested to him that the lamb 
had been still-born, then he ate no more. 

In his overwhelming loneliness he thought that he would 
write to Margot. He went to the so-called salon, dipped 
a rusted pen hopefully into a dusty ink-bottle. Alas ! it 
was dry. Discouraged, he rose and sought the streets 
again. A few cheap cinemas were open, the bills display- 
ing cow-boy pictures, — strong, silent, wooden-faced men 
and romping, sunny-haired heroines. The streets were 
badly lighted and suggested nocturnal adventure ; but the 
frequent display of the vendetta knife in the shop win- 
dows was an incentive towards virtue. He found a big, 
dingy cafe, and, ordering a liqueur, fell to sampling one 
after another the various brands of cigarettes he had 
purchased. He w r as abysmally bored. Bastia was the 
finest place in the world, he decided, to pass through 
without stopping. 

Then he went home to his hotel. Sitting on his bed in 
the candlelight, he read his little guide-book. Suddenly 
he had an idea. He was fit, foot-loose, free, — why not 


THE MAN HUNT 345 

walk across the island? Yes, that was it. He would 
tramp from Bastia to Agaccio. 


2 . 

Next morning he bought a small, cheap valise and 
packed in it the few clothes he needed, also his sketching 
materials, as he might want to make some colour notes 
on the way. He planned to take about a fortnight to the 
trip, jogging along easily, studying the people, perhaps 
fishing a little, and generally enjoying himself. 

This cheerful prospect reconciled him to another day 
in Bastia. He made the acquaintance of a tourist party 
that were stopping at his hotel. They were nearly all 
women, and their great subject of conversation was not 
the beauties of the island but Food, — the feasts that 
awaited them of fresh trout, black-birds and passionate 
pink wine. 

“Ah ! you are English !” said a vivacious French girl to 
Hugh. “There are so many English in Corsica, very 
aristocratic English. They have been coming here for 
years, and seem to think they have discovered the place. 
They rather resent us ordinary tourists. There is an- 
other Englishman in the hotel. Perhaps you have seen 
him. He has the room next to yours. Or he may be an 
American, he is so tall and clean-shaven, and he wears 
those funny big round tortoise-shell spectacles. They 
make people look like owls, I think. Do you know him? 
I ask because he seems so quiet, so retiring. I am quite 
curious about him.” 

“No, I haven’t seen him. But then I haven’t been near 
my room all day. If I see him I’ll speak to him, and 
allay your curiosity about him.” 


346 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


That evening he passed the tall man in the gloom of 
the corridor. Hugh was about to accost him when the 
man brushed past him and disappeared hurriedly into his 
room. 

“Can’t be an American, after all,” thought Hugh, “or 
he’d be more sociable. I’ll look up his name in the reg- 
ister.” 

When he did look it up, he found it was Wilbur P. 
Hoffmann, Jersey City; that settled it. 


3. 

The next morning, before starting out, he sought the 
proprietor of the library where he had bought his guide 
book, and inquired the best road for his journey. 

“But, monsieur,” said the man, “it would be better to 
take the train to Cassamozza; it is very flat and uninter- 
esting as far as that. There the mountains begin, and 
you go up the valley of the Golo. The train starts in 
half an hour. You have just time to catch it, if you 
hurry.” 

The idea was a good one. Hugh hurried back to the 
hotel, leaped up the two flights of stairs and burst into his 
room. He grabbed his valise, which he had packed be- 
fore going out, and rushed down into the street. Within 
ten minutes he was seated in the train. 

The first-class carriage in which he found himself was 
very small and very dirty. He had to rub the window- 
pane with a newspaper in order to see out. On the walls 
of the compartment were advertisements of the wine of 
Cap Corse, a local aperatif, and a liquor called Cedera- 
tine. There were three other passengers in the carriage, 
a fat, spectacled man and two thin, spectacled women. 


THE MAN HUNT 


347 


From their accent he thought they were German at first, 
but later decided they were Dutch. They did not inter- 
est him. When the train started he turned his attention 
to the scenery. A green level stretched away to brown 
marshes that in turn yielded to the grey of the sea. At 
the tiny stations, sheltered by eucalyptus trees, peasants 
laden with baskets got in and out. Hugh attached a 
strap to the rings of his valise so that he could sling it 
from his shoulder. He had packed it with bread, cheese 
and fruit, a tin billy and a packet of tea. 

He had decided to walk for two hours after reaching 
Cassamozza, then lunch in the open, so that it was with a 
sense of cheerful adventure that he descended at the 
little station and started out on his long tramp. How 
hot the way was ! As he strode up the valley of the 
Golo the sun was scorching, the road a dazzling white; 
below him was a furious torrent, now dashing in dazzling 
foam amid great boulders, now swirling greenly in 
gravelly pools. It delighted him ; it was so pure, so wild, 
so free. There was the maquis, too. It rose on either 
hand, clothing the mountain sides with rich dark green. 
It was pathless, dense, the best cover in the world. Here 
in the old days bandits had defied the forces of law 
and order; but now, doubtless, they were all dead. 

With every step he realized more and more that he 
was advancing into the land of legend and history. He 
passed a hoary shepherd, who might have stepped from 
the pages of romance. The old man had a long beard and 
was dressed in brown corduroy. On his head he wore a 
picturesque beret , and strapped to his back was a huge 
blue umbrella and a gun. He was leaning motionless on 
his long staff, gazing over a flock of black-haired sheep 
that mottled the hillside. Hugh felt the poetry of it — 


348 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


the mountains soaring to meet the sky, the white tor- 
rent roaring in his ears, the solitary shepherd, white- 
bearded as a patriarch of old. 

He was becoming hungry, furiously hungry, and he 
thought with joy of the simple fare tucked away in his 
valise. He climbed down to the river, and in the shadow 
of a great rock made a cheerful fire of driftwood. Now 
for the tea. Confound it ! What was the matter with 
his valise? His key refused to turn in the lock. 

“That is the worst of these cheap bags,” he complained ; 
“the key always jams when you are in a devil of a 
hurry.” 

He was ravenously hungry. His mouth watered even 
at the thought of bread and cheese. Damn the thing! 
It was a pity to break the lock but there seemed no help 
for it. Another effort. There, it was yielding. Bravo! 
it had suddenly burst open. . . . Good God ! 

He stared blankly at what he saw. He rubbed his eyes 
and looked again. No, he was not dreaming, he was not 
mad . . . they were there, dozens of them . . . packets 
tightly tied, neatly arranged, numbered. . . . Thousand 
franc hank-notes. There seemed to be a hundred to a 
packet, and there were twenty-eight packets. Nearly 
three million francs! What could it all mean? Still 
staring at the wealth in his possession, he sat down and 
tried to think. The Golo roared in his ears. Between 
two grim grey boulders it crashed; it swirled and eddied 
into a great green pool. In those pure depths could be 
seen the darting shadows of trout. 

Three million francs! 

He breathed the perfume of the maquis. He saw it 
carpeting the broad valley, rising to the mountain ridges 
that met the sky. Yonder like a carved figure the patri- 


THE MAN HUNT 349 

archal shepherd stood motionless by his flock. It was 
like a dream. 

Three million francs . 

Yes, there they were in that little valise. He looked 
closely at it; it w T as not his valise. It was quite different 
from the one he had bought, bigger and finer! He had 
taken it by mistake. How could he have made such a 
blunder? It had been in his room. ... Or had it been 
in his room? Ah! that was it. In his furious hurry to 
catch the train he must have entered the wrong room. . . . 
But whose? Why, whose but the tall American’s ; Wilbur 
P. Hoffmann’s. Now he was getting at it. He had 
rushed into the room adjoining his and carried away 
the American’s valise. It was not such a strange thing 
to do, after all. The rooms were all alike, the doors 
unnumbered. He had not examined particularly his 
valise when he had bought it; and it was little wonder 
that he had not noticed the difference. Yes, he had 
carried away another man’s valise containing nearly 
three million francs. What should he do with it? Go 
back to Cassamozza and telegraph, of course! The tall 
American must be in a devil of a stew. But what was 
Wilbur P. Hoffmann doing packing three million francs 
around in a hand valise? It w T as a rum affair. . . . 

Hugh realized suddenly his own position. It was dan- 
gerous to be carrying such a treasure in this wild, primi- 
tive country. Few men would hesitate to kill him to gain 
possession of it. Even now some one might be watching 
him. Half fearfully he looked around. Then he closed 
the valise with a snap. Some one was watching him. It 
was a peasant lad who had bobbed up from the other side 
of the big boulder. 

“Hullo,” said Hugh. 


350 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Bon jour, monsieur .” 

The lad drew nearer. He carried a long cane fishing- 
rod and had a canvas wallet slung at his back. He wore 
an old army tunic on which was sewn the yellow ribband 
of the military medal. He also limped badly. His age 
was about that of Hugh, and his face was olive tinted 
and bold featured. 

“How is the fishing ?” 

“Not bad, monsieur. A little too clear. Still, 
look. . . .” 

Opening his satchel he showed Hugh four fine trout. 
Suddenly Hugh remembered that he was hungry. 

“Listen,” he said, “I’ve walked from Cassamozza, and 
I’ve forgotten to bring anything to eat. I’m dying of 
hunger. I suppose it wouldn’t be possible to cook 
these?” 

“Nothing easier, monsieur. I generally cook a fish or 
two for lunch. See. ...” 

He took from his wallet a small frying-pan and a bottle 
of olive oil. 

“Already you have a fire made. We will cook these in 
no time, and you will see how nice they will be.” 

He soon had the fish simmering on the fire. He pro- 
duced a piece of coarse bread and even some salt. When 
the fishes were cooked Hugh laid them on a flat stone. 
He ate with his hands, stripping the bones with his fingers. 
What matter ! There was lots of water to wash in after- 
wards, all the Golo a giant finger-bowl at his feet. He had 
never tasted fish quite so delicious. 

“There! I feel better,” he said at last. “Now for a 
good drink at the river and a smoke.” 

He produced cigarettes and the two smoked comfortably. 

“Been at the War?” asked Hugh. 


THE MAN HUNT 


351 


“Yes,” said the lad. “Verdun. I got wounded in the 
leg there. It still bothers me. Two of my brothers were 
killed. There’s not a family here but lost some one. 
You know we Corsicans are brave. There were no braver 
men in the French army than our regiments. But they 
don’t like the Corsicans in France. The French generals 
sacrificed us.” 

He shook his head sadly. 

“Ah! poor Corsica. It is the forgotten island. So 
rich, yet so neglected. We are supposed to be savage, 
but there is no people so kindly. But we are poor, oh, 
so poor. Look at me. I have not a sou . And I will 
always be like this, poor, ragged, ignorant. It is hard.” 

“What would you do if you had . . . say three mil- 
lion francs?” 

“Ah, monsieur, you jest. That is all the money in the 
world. Why, I would buy my old mother the cottage she 
lives in; then I would go to Paris and get an education. 
I would live like a fine gentleman# Ah! Paris. I was 
there once. What a time I had! I shall never forget it. 
Well, now I must catch some more fish for our supper 
this night.” 

Hugh tried to give him a bill for five francs, but the 
lad drew back proudly. 

“No, monsieur, we are a hospitable people. We do 
what little we can to make the stranger welcome. I 
thank you, but I can accept nothing.” He limped away 
in his rags and Hugh did not see him again. 


4. 


Once more Hugh climbed to the road. He would go 
on, he decided, to the next station and telegraph there. 


352 THE POISONED PARADISE 

What a beastly nuisance! He would have to return to 
Bastia. That American, who was he? Even in that 
brief moment in the corridor there had been something 
vaguely familiar about him. What if he were a criminal 
fleeing from justice ! What if. . . . Good Heavens ! . . . 
Hugh stopped short as the great idea flashed on him. 
Could it be? . . . Could it be that Wilbur P. Hoffmann 
was . . . 

He tore open the valise again, and fell to examining 
the notes. Some pencil markings confirmed his sus- 
picion. . . . Was it Doctor Bergius? Absurd! Yet why 
not? Doctor Bergius with his beard shaved off, his head 
cropped, would not look very unlike Wilbur P. Hoffmann. 
He had noticed, even in the obscurity, the man’s large, 
beaklike nose. Conviction grew on him. Yes, the tall 
American was Doctor Bergius. Here now was a pretty 
mess. What was he to do? The Casino had been robbed 
of three million francs. He was alone with the booty 
in the savage heart of Corsica; he could not return it 
to the robbers, and to return it to the Casino . . . hum ! 
That didn’t quite appeal to him either. He had not 
much sympathy with the Casino. They could well afford 
to lose it. It would be better to hand it over to some 
deserving charity. In the meantime what was to be done? 
He could not carry the stuff round. He must dispose 
of it for the moment. That was it. He would hide it. 
He had been hearing for some time, as he walked, the 
roar of a great waterfall, and saw it about three hun- 
dred yards further on at the head of a very wild and 
solitary gorge. Climbing over the rocks, he reached the 
base of the cliff where the white shaft of water plunged 
into a deep pool. He found that the rock over which it 
fell shelved back into a low cave. He crawled in; it was 


THE MAN HUNT 


353 


quite dry. He took out the bundles of bank-notes, and 
wrapping them in his waterproof coat, bound the parcel 
tightly with stout cord. Then he crawled still further 
into the cave and jammed it into a fissure of the rock. 

“There! It’s safe,” he said. “It can remain in that 
cleft a thousand years and no one will find it.” 

He crawled out cautiously, and, after reconnoitring 
to see that no one had observed him, continued on his 
way. 


CHAPTER TWO 


IN THE “MAQUIS” 

A MID the gorges of the Golo the white road wound 
on and up. The maquis encroached on it, frowned 
^ ^ on it shaggily. Once or twice Hugh plunged into 
the perfumed cover and explored it for a few yards. The 
landscape lay sunny and still. 

On the other side of the road, all strength and joy, 
the river leapt like a living thing; it charged the boulders, 
it flashed in foam, it gleamed in green pools. Sometimes 
he saw peasants with cane-poles tempting the unsophisti- 
cated trout. 

He came on other ancient shepherds, with big flocks of 
black sheep, or goats. They always bowed profoundly, 
then resumed their statuesque pose. From time to time 
he passed cottages with red tiled roofs. Sturdy children, 
peach-skinned, with dark, glossy hair, and bold black eyes, 
came out to stare at him. A poor, proud, self-reliant 
race. 

Beside each house was its own private graveyard. 
Often the tombs were walled, so that the dead were better 
housed than the living. 

Sometimes the road dived into groves of cork trees. 
They had all been stripped of their barks, the new growth 
showing by its colour and depth the number of years since 
each tree had been scaled. 

Hugh found the way full of interest, and would have 
been very happy indeed, had it not been for the thought 
of the money. It haunted him. Why had Doctor Ber- 

351 


THE MAN HUNT 


355 


gius brought it here? Had he given the others the slip, 
or were they all here? If they were, then heaven help 
him! They would soon be on his trail, and would never 
let up. They were relentless. In this lonely seabound 
island how could he escape them? In spite of the bright 
sunshine and the reassuring tranquillity of his surround- 
ings, he shuddered. 

High up in the folds of the hills he saw grey mountain 
villages, each clustered about a tall church, and looking 
so still, so dream-like, that it was hard to believe any one 
lived there. Nearly all the women he met were dressed in 
black with black silk scarfs knotted around their heads. 
He remembered that in this land the period of mourning 
is seven years, so that it is rare for a woman to be out 
of black. 

He had passed many round rings of stone on the green 
sward. He asked a stalwart farmer what they were and 
was told that they were threshing floors. They still used 
oxen to trample the corn as they had done ever since the 
time of the Romans. Then as the sun was setting, he 
met a caped and bearded shepherd, leading home his flock, 
and carrying a lost lamb in his arms. 

It was evening when he reached Ponte Lecchio and 
found a lodging for the night. His room was large and 
lofty, quite bare except for a large crucifix on the white- 
washed wall. As he was dropping off to sleep he thought 
xof Margot. She must be very busy preparing for her 
wedding. He ought to write to her, and give her his 
fraternal blessing. But somehow he couldn’t. Of course, 
what she was doing was for the best. He hoped she 
would be happy and all that sort of thing. He had al- 
ways advised her to marry, and now she was doing it; 
yet somehow it made him melancholy. 


356 THE POISONED PARADISE 

“I’ll get over it,” he sighed dolefully ; “I’ll forget all 
about her.” 

In the morning he resumed his tramp. He had lunch- 
eon at a place called Omessa, in an auberge. He ate slices 
of the raw ham of the country, Roquefort cheese made on 
the neighbouring farms, figs and walnuts, all washed down 
with the rich wine of the country. Thus heartened he 
continued his way. As he neared the station of Omessa 
he heard the train whistle. He loitered to let it pass. He 
bought a couple of oranges from a woman squatting on 
the platform beside a great round basket full of them, then 
stepped back into the grimy waiting room. He was idly 
peeling one of the oranges when the train drew up. The 
window of the waiting room was plastered with time- 
table bills, but in the narrow space between them Hugh 
peered out. 

Suddenly his heart seemed to lift in a sickening way. 
At the door of a first class carriage were three men, — 
Castelli, Golaz and Gamba. They were after him. As 
he stared through the narrow chink he saw Gamba descend 
and buy some oranges. Then a fourth man came from the 
back of the compartment. It was Wilbur P. Hoffmann. 
The supposed American looked up and down the platform. 
His face was worried and anxious. Hugh’s suspicion was 
correct. That hard, grim face, dominated by its beak- 
like nose, was none other than Doctor Bergius. 

“Take a look round the station,” cried the doctor to 
Gamba. “He may be here. We cannot afford to take 
any chances.” 

Hugh had just time to rush from the waiting room 
by the back door as Gamba entered. He heard a step on 
the wooden floor, and knew the little man was coming 
after him. How could he escape? At the end of the sta- 


THE MAN HUNT 


357 


tion house was a small stone building into which he darted. 
He pulled the door shut, holding the handle with all his 
strength. Around him were brushes and a ladder. Under 
his feet he heard the crunch of coal. He was evidently 
in the closet used by the caretaker of the station. As he 
held the door, he heard a step outside and Gamba seized 
the handle, cursing volubly. Hugh held on grimly. Al- 
though Gamba supposed the door was locked, he made 
another effort to open it. He had powerful hands had 
the Strangler. Hugh felt the handle gradually turning 
in his grip. Another instant and Gamba would conquer. 
Then the train whistled, and Gamba hurried off. 

Hugh waited a full ten minutes before he emerged from 
the closet. The train has gone ; he saw it puffing far up 
the valley. There was no one on the platform. He was 
safe. 

For the moment at least. The train was bearing his 
enemies away, but to-morrow they would return. When 
they discovered he had not arrived at Agaccio they would 
double back. They were like a pack of blood hounds 
on his trail and the hunt was only beginning. He was 
entirely at their mercy. He must use his wits and trust 
to Providence. 

2 . 

Before he reached Corte the weather had changed ; 
clouds had collected, and a fine rain was falling. He 
found a poor room in a large, unsanitary hotel, but dined 
decently on an omelette and some fried trout. 

Corte in the drizzling twilight was very depressing. An 
old fortress stood on a rocky point against a savage moun- 
tain. Clammy scarfs of mist wreathed the peaks and 
trailed down the passes. Hugh wandered about the muddy 


358 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


main street, halting on the greasy pavement to peer down 
dark and ruinous courts. Seen under that cowl of sky, 
through the curtain of soft rain, Corte was indeed a 
joyless and discomforting place. 

He sought his room, and spent an uneasy night between 
damp sheets. He was sorry now he had not made for 
Bastia and hid there until a boat sailed. The thought of 
the doctor and his band of desperadoes frankly terrified 
him. Well, he would go on now, and trust to luck. 

Next morning the rain had ceased, although it still 
threatened. It would be better, he thought, to lunch by 
the wayside; and he bought some cheese, fruit, bread and a 
bottle of wine. Thus provisioned he started up the moun- 
tain road that was to take him on the next stage of his 
j ourney . 

Ever since he had left Cassamozza he had been climbing 
steadily. He had left behind the lemon and orange gro/es, 
and now was steadily mounting to a land of oak forests 
and ravines. The flocks of sheep had given place to herds 
of goats, and the maqnis was growing more and more 
aggressive. Down in the dim valley, like a silver tape, 
was the Tavignano meandering to the sea. On the other 
side of the valley were two precipitously perched 
villages. He passed many little roadside shrines, and one 
or two old lime kilns. Here and there were bearded goat- 
herds in long black cloaks, standing as motionless as scare- 
crows in a wheatfield. At noon he sat down on the edge of 
the maqwis and ate his luncheon. 

He was just finishing his meal, when he paused and 
listened. Surely he heard the faint chugging of a motor. 
... Yes, yonder it was, a small car cautiously descending 
the mountain road. Some instinct made him draw back 
into the bush. Well he did so, for it was the four men 


THE MAN HUNT 


359 


who were hunting him, Castelli driving with the doctor, 
Golaz and Gamba behind. Hugh saw their eyes searching 
the road on either side. Now they were looking at the 
very spot where he lay. But the brush was thick, and 
they passed slowly on. A narrow escape ! 

They must have started early that morning from 
Agaccio. He knew they would have little difficulty in trac- 
ing him on that island where strangers were rare. It was 
just a question of time, of getting his location narrowed 
down. They would learn that he had stopped at Corte and 
had taken the road to Agaccio. Then they would turn back 
to search for him, inquiring at every house and village 
on the way. Beyond him was the little hillside town of 
Venaco. They would inquire if he had passed through. 
Well, he would not pass through; he would take to the 
maquis and go round. 

All afternoon he kept to the maquis , avoiding villages, 
hamlets and even houses. He scrambled over rocks, stum- 
bled through brush. He flattered himself that not even a 
peasant had seen him. He kept close to the road, his ear 
ever alert for the far off sound of a motor. 

He was making slow progress, but he could see no other 
way. By now they must have traced him to Corte, and 
learned that he was but a few miles away. Doubtless they 
had asked the peasants to look out for him, even offered a 
reward. Perhaps at that very moment a score of stalwart 
Corsicans were scouring the bush for him. He had but 
one slim chance of escape, that of lying low, working his 
way to Agaccio and catching the boat for Marseilles. 

He decided to sleep that night in the maquis . Under the 
shadow of an overhanging rock he found a place that was 
quite dry and screened by the foliage of an oak tree. He 
made a tiny fire, ate what remained of his food, and smoked 


360 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


a good deal. If only he had had a blanket he would have 
been fairly comfortable. 

He arose with the dawn, stiff and sore. He took to the 
road, thinking he would meet no one at that early hour. 
He was ravenously hungry and felt reckless. When he 
came to the solitary house of a shepherd, he ventured to ap- 
proach it and ask for food. 

It was a two storied house with plastered walls, and a 
red tiled roof. An outer stairway led to the upper floor 
where the family lived; the ground floor was used as a 
stable. 

As he knocked at the rough door he told himself he must 
seem rather a sorry sight. A night in the maquis had not 
improved his appearance. If he had only been wearing the 
corduroys of the country . . . but he was in a brown 
Norfolk jacket, grey flannel trousers and a panama. He 
was not surprised wdien the bearded and spectacled old 
man who opened the door stared at him with astonishment. 

“Can I have something to eat?” he asked. 

Corsican hospitality is proverbial. 

“ Entrez done , monsieur ” said the old man. 

Hugh entered. The house consisted of but one big room 
meagrely furnished. Hams hung from the rafters, and at a 
small stove a woman, surrounded by a brood of half-clad 
children, was preparing coffee. The old man offered him a 
chair. 

“The place is yours, monsieur. Make yourself at home.” 

He ate some bread and drank his coffee, then rose to go. 
The old man detained him. In half intelligible French he 
began to relate the family history: they were miserably 
poor ; his son, the father of the small brood, only worked 
at intervals. They had a garden, some goats, pigs, 
chickens, a few cultivated acres. Praise God there was 


THE MAN HUNT 


361 


always something to feed the children. Would monsieur 
like to taste their home-cured ham? Ah! now he must 
insist. 

There was a heavy step on the outer stair and the old 
man went quickly to the door. Hugh heard hurried whis- 
pers then the step descended rapidly. The old man re- 
turned, and continued to cut the ham. He offered it raw 
after the fashion of the country. Hugh would have pre- 
ferred it cooked, but under the circumstances he thought 
it best to bolt it down as it was. Then he rose again and 
said he must be on his way. 

Again the old man tried to detain him. “Why not 
stay a little and rest yourself? There is a nice warm bed, 
and we have goat’s meat for dinner. You must see how 
good it is.” 

The old man almost hung onto his arm. His eagerness 
seemed very suspicious, so Hugh gently detached himself 
and bade good-bye to the family. As he went up the road, 
he saw them all watching him from the doorway. 

No sooner was the house out of sight than he took to 
the maquis. His fears were justified, for about an hour 
later two cars passed very slowly. The first, the small 
green one he had already seen, contained Castelli, Golaz 
and Gamba; the other, a big powerful grey, driven by a 
chauffeur, held Doctor Bergius. They had heard of 
him, no doubt, at the house of the shepherd, and were 
patrolling the road. But, hidden as he was in that dense 
jungle of maquis, they had little chance of finding him. 
He imagined that they must have telegraphed to Bastia 
for the big grey car. 

About two o’clock he saw the two cars going back in 
the direction of Yenaco, and once more ventured to take 
to the road. As he passed a dismal farm a man and a 


362 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


woman paused in their work to regard him. He wanted 
to ask them for food, but their manner was so strange that 
he decided it was wiser to go on. When he was a little way 
from the house, he saw the man leap on a mule and ride 
off in the opposite direction. Evidently the whole country- 
side had been warned, and every one was on the look-out 
for him. It would be only a matter of time before they 
cornered him. Once again he took to the maquis. 

Rain had begun to fall. The underbrush was drenched 
and he was cold and wet. Still he pushed doggedly on. 
His despair gave him strength and he covered quite a 
distance. He cut off a big bend in the road by going 
straight through the bush. As he was in the midst of 
the maquis he heard again the sound of a motor. Climb- 
ing a rock he peered cautiously over the country. Close 
to the road a number of peasants were moving back and 
forth. They were beating the bush for him. 

Still more cautiously he moved forward. Half an hour 
later he came out on the road once more. Not far away 
he heard the beaters crashing through the brush. Soon 
they must find him. He peered around carefully . . • 
then his heart leaped. 

Standing by the side of the road was the little green 
car. It was empty. Castelli and the others had gotten 
out and were searching for him. He looked up and down 
the road. There was no sign of them. 

Then a desperate idea came to him. . . . Yes, he 
would do it. 


CHAPTER THREE 


IN THE MOUNTAINS 

O NCE more he looked up and down the road. Still 
no sign of any one. Now was the moment. 

He sprang to the little green car and spun 
the handle. Would it start or not? The motor breathed 
gently. Exultation flamed in him. A good car and a 
good road . . . the devil himself could not stop him 
now. He leapt to the seat, jerking off the brake and 
giving her gas at the same moment. Then he heard a 
shout from behind, and turned his head sharply. About 
a hundred yards behind him Gamba had come out of the 
maquis. 

There was no time to lose. The little man was running 
like a deer. How about the gears? Hugh looked down 
at the gate in which they worked, a four-speed gear box. 
They must go the usual w r ay, — front, back, cross and 
front, back. Quick, Gamba was getting closer! He 
jammed in the first speed, and the car moved slowly for- 
ward. Second speed! He was going faster now, but 
Gamba was still gaining. Third speed! He heard close 
behind him the hard, panting breath of his pursuer. 
Gamba was running like the wind. Quickly he shot into 
high; and at the same instant he heard a heavy thump 
on the back of the car. Gamba had jumped and was 
hanging on behind. 

The car was going at a fair speed now. If he only could 
get rid of that grinning little devil behind all would be 

363 


3 64 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


well. Gamba was hoisting himself up. Soon he would be 
in the car, and then. . . . Hugh looked back once more. 
The man was waist-high above the hood. In another mo- 
ment it would be too late. Ha! there on the floor by his 
feet was a spare can of petrol. That might do. He 
reached for it and with all his strength flung it over his 
shoulder. It must have caught Gamba square on the face, 
for he heard a crash and a howl. When he looked again 
Gamba was gone. He had a brief glimpse of him sprawl- 
ing on the road. Then on and on at increasing speed. 

Suddenly from the maquis he heard a shout like the 
hoarse bellow of a bull. Before him, on a snag of rock, 
was the burly figure of Golaz. The man shook huge 
fists at him in impotent rage. The rock was about twenty 
yards away from the road and Hugh knew he could pass 
it before Golaz had time to descend. He put on a burst 
of speed. The car leapt forward. 

What was Golaz after? He had bent down and was 
wrenching furiously at the rock. He detached a great 
fragment of it and stood with it poised above his head. 
What a ferocious figure he made against that savage back- 
ground, his dark face distorted with rage! 

Instinctively Hugh slowed up. He knew what was com- 
ing. A car is a hard object to miss, and that great rock 
crashing down on any part of it, would hopelessly wreck 
him. There was no way of avoiding it; the road was 
narrow with thick brush on either hand. Nothing but to 
dash forward and take his chance. 

He opened the throttle to the full, and the little car 
answered like a living thing. It seemed to pause for an 
astonished moment, then bounded forward so swiftly that 
it almost seemed to leave the ground. At the same instant 
the great stone came crashing down. 


THE MAN HUNT 


365 


Would it hit him? He heard a snarl of rage from 
Golaz and a dull thump on the road behind him. Yes, 
that admirable response of his engine, that sudden spurt 
of speed had deceived the man. The great stone had 
missed by a hand’s breadth. 

“Oh, you gallant little beast!” breathed Hugh to the 
car. “You’re a thoroughbred. You’ll save me yet.” 

Behind him Golaz continued to roar and wave his arms. 
Hugh had a flash of intuition that his danger was not 
yet over. He was right. From the maquis about a hun- 
dred yards ahead, darted the figure of another man . . . 
Castelli. He stood in the centre of the road with his 
automatic pistol, and waited. Hugh was reckless. He 
must pass that man. A wave of hate surged through him ; 
Castelli was trying to kill him ; well, then, he would try to 
kill Castelli. He would run him down. 

The car was going at full speed, rocking and bounding 
in its leaps. Castelli drew a little to one side and with a 
quick twist of the wheel Hugh swerved and bore down on 
him. The man saw his intention and sprang away. That 
leap saved Hugh; a bullet struck and starred his wind- 
shield ; another whistled past his head ; a third punched a 
harmless hole in one of his rear mud-guards. Then he 
passed out of range. He was free . . . free. 

Once more exultation flamed -in him. The road, ever 
climbing higher, followed the folds of the mountains. 
Sometimes, as he looked ahead, it would seem to come 
to an end and the careening car be about to leap into 
the vast void of the valley. But as he drew near, it 
hooked sharply round, and with a wrench of the wheel 
he was safe on a new stretch. Below him, far, far below, 
he could see the white bed of the Tavignano, the river like 
a blue ribband tangled amid the boulders. He seemed 


366 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


to be in the clouds, and rising, rising to the top of the 
world. He stopped the car for a moment to consult his 
map. 

Good! It was only three o’clock, and not more than 
some eighty kilometres to Agaccio. If nothing happened 
he could make it by nightfall. True, they might telegraph 
to the police, and have him stopped at some way- 
side village. No, that was not likely. They did not want 
to have any dealings with the police. Once at Agaccio he 
was safe. 

He was about to start again, when he heard a sound 
that checked him. With a hand on the wheel he listened 
intently. From far down the valley it came, the faint 
tick-tock of a straining motor. He ran his eye along 
the sinuous curve of road that was like a white tape- 
line tacked to the mountain. Yes, there it was, about two 
miles away, the long grey auto racing in pursuit. 

“If they w T ant to catch me, they’ll have to do some 
giddy going,” he muttered, as once more he slammed on 
his speeds. 

The little car, panting with eagerness, ate up the road. 
If only it had been a straight road he could have launched 
forward, but the hair-pin bends baffled him. As he swung 
around them, a swerve of a few inches would have shot him 
a thousand feet into the valley below. Ahead of him the 
mountains rose like a solid wall, gaunt and stupendous. 
They seemed to crowd around him, to close him in, to block 
his way. Clouds cloaked their higher summits and the 
drizzling rain had grown chill and dispiriting. The in- 
creasing stickiness of the way made careful driving more 
and more necessary. Dizzily on his right rose the moun- 
tain ; on his left sheerly dropped the valley. A skid would 
be fatal. 


THE MAN HUNT 


367 


Nervously he slackened speed, but even as he did so his 
heart seemed to contract. On the bend of the hill below 
he saw the grey car. It swung madly round a corner and 
strained on with relentless energy. That chauffeur must 
be a demon. The four men were urging him to greater 
speed, bending forward with fierce excited gestures. They 
were not more than half a mile behind and every second the 
distance was lessening. Once more Hugh gave the car gas 
and she leaped forward. 

They should not capture him. That would mean tor- 
ture, death. He knew them. They were exasperated now 
beyond all reason. They would show him no mercy. And 
they were gaining on him, gaining relentlessly, inch by 
inch. 

It was getting gloomier, he noticed, — and more chilly. 
Yet in spite of the increasing cold, great drops of sweat 
beaded his brow. With hands tensely clutching the driv- 
ing wheel he glared at the glistening road ahead. His 
motor was going with a steady roar; and the car was 
bucking and plunging in a maddened frenzy of speed. He 
was near the top of the long valley, and soon would be 
dashing into the dark defiles of the mountains. But 
before he could reach them he would have to pass over 
a long bit of straight road. It was on this, he feared, the 
final tussle would come. 

He had not gone more than a third of a mile when he 
heard the grey car come around the corner behind him. 
They were now on the same stretch, running for every last 
ounce of power in their motors. The grey car roared 
down on him like the wind. It must be doing eighty miles 
an hour to his forty. With his foot jammed hard on 
the gas-pedal, he clutched the bucking wheel. The car 
bounded and rocked beneath him. It was all he could do 


368 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


to keep it on the road. The hillside was a blur, the wind 
screamed in his ears. 

With every spin of its great engine the grey car was 
gaining. He dared not look around, but he felt sure that 
the four men were reaching forward, revolvers in hands, 
tense, grim, implacable. The giant panting of their 
motor drowned the roar of his own. He could do no 
more, ... he was at his full burst of speed. 

He watched the road rise sharply before him. It was 
on that long slope he would be caught. He knew it. As 
he struck the rise, his speed dropped. Not so that of the 
grey car, it seemed to come on faster than ever. It 
roared like an angry monster; its panting deafened 
him. . . . 

What was that? A bullet. They were near enough to 
shoot ; they had him ! He crouched low as another bullet 
sung past his ears. In a moment more he would jam in 
his brakes, stop the car brutally, leap into the maqids . He 
had a revolver; he would sell his life for a grim price. 
At least two of these devils should pay ! 

Then he heard another report, and his heart gave a leap 
of joy. Could it be the bursting of a tire? Yes, he was 
right. There were shouts, curses, furious exclamations, 
then silence. On he hurtled, hardly believing in his luck. 
He could no longer hear them, and at the head of the 
valley, he slowed up and looked round. The grey car had 
come to a standstill. The men had gotten out and were 
busy fitting on a new tire. That would take them ten 
minutes at least. He had already gained nearly a mile. 
In ten minutes he could do another five. Let him only have 
six miles between them, and, with luck* he would beat them 
yet. He put on speed again. 

How marvellously the road was mounting ! Great 


THE MAN HUNT 


369 


craggy peaks soared up on every side. Dark ravines 
yawned beneath him. Ahead was a cloud-mass, heavy 
as a sponge. The rainy drizzle had thickened to a 
downpour. The car now splashed through pools of water, 
now slithered over stretches of mud. Then the forests 
began to close in on both sides of the road and give him 
a sense of security. The country had completely changed. 
The road descended into dripping oakgroves, and spanned 
dark gulleys, down which brawled angry torrents. 

Then it began to climb again, and the oaks gave 
way to pines. He had been travelling for nearly an hour, 
and had heard no sound of his pursuers. What had hap- 
pened to them? Perhaps something worse than a damaged 
tire. He must be far ahead of them by now. He was 
rapidly mounting to the Col of Vizzavona. According to 
his map, when he had crossed the divide, he would drop 
down into Agaccip. Only let him surmount the Col and 
he could coast downhill for the rest of the way. He 
should make Agaccio by dark. For the third time that' 
day he glowed with exultation. 

It was getting very cold. The pines were chill and 
gloomy. The rain seemed to sting. . . . What was that 
just ahead, that patch of white? Surely it could not be 
snow? Yes. It was a short stretch, quite shallow. The 
car bounded through it easily. But look, another, broader, 
deeper! The car slid a little this time, and his heart 
sank. Then he saw the road was clear, and his hopes 
rose again. He mounted a ridge. He must be in the very 
heart of the mountains now. The mist rolled and dipped, 
cloaking the stark peaks that ringed him round. Surely 
he could not go much higher. 

Again the road dropped swiftly. At the bottom of the 
dip, his car plunged into a great drift of snow, a foot 


370 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


deep and half melted. For a few yards it struggled on, 
them slackened speed and came almost to a standstill. Des- 
perately he strove to force his way through; his wheels 
were whirring and. slipping in the rain-rotted snow. He 
could not budge. He realized that it was useless. 

Jumping out he reconnoitred the road ahead. It was 
filled with drifts, snow without a break. He never could 
get through. Stalled! Hopelessly stuck! Going back 
he tried once again. The car struggled gallantly, but 
to no use. He looked at it ruefully. 

“Bless you, you gallant little beast,” he said. “You’ve 
served me more than nobly. Now it’s got to be good-bye.” 

Then he left the road and plunged into the forest. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


m THE FOEEST 

1 . 

H E intended to remain in the cover of the forest, 
even, if need be, to spend the night there. In 
any case he would keep well away from the road 
and work through the wild country to Agaccio. Fortu- 
nately the forest was an open one. On the heights were 
pines, in the hollows oaks. Under the trees the rocks 
were covered with moss or a short growth of fern. 
There was -nothing to impede him save the frequent gorges 
and brawling streams, and he made good progress. He 
was wet through; but in his excitement he felt neither 
cold nor fatigue, not even hunger. 

Then, as night drew near, he began to be conscious of 
all three. The prospect of passing the hours of darkness 
in the forest daunted him. He might become crippled 
with rheumatism, perhaps contract pneumonia. He was 
afraid. 

So presently stumbling on a narrow trail, he followed 
it eagerly, even breaking into a run. It was well defined 
and must lead to some habitation. 

It had grown dark and he could hardly see the path. 
Several times he lost it and stumbled into wet fern. He 
went on more cautiously, drenched, shivering, discouraged. 
Would the trail never end? It went up and up, climbing 
deeper into the savage fastnesses. He was so tired, 
so miserably tired ; he longed to lie down and rest. 

371 


372 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


But that would be fatal. He must struggle on. His 
heart failed him, his weakness increased. Perhaps the 
little trail led nowhere. Despair seized him. Just as he 
was about to succumb, he saw a light. It was streaming 
through the shuttered window of a house, a house so near 
he almost blundered into it. He found the door and 
knocked. A step; then a voice asked: 

“Who is there?” 

“A traveller. I’ve lost my way. Please let me in.” 

A heavy bolt was drawn, and the door opened cau- 
tiously. A tall old man holding a lamp over his head, 
stood in the doorway. His face was in the shadow, but 
Hugh could see that it was round and jovial. The man 
looked at him for a long moment, then said : 

“Ah! my poor monsieur, you are indeed in a plight. 
Excuse me that I did not open sooner. But there are 
bandits about, and one has to be careful.” 

He led Hugh into a bare room in which there was a 
long table and some rough benches. It was like the 
public room of some country auberge, hard, primitive, 
nakedly clean, but its cheerlessness was vanquished by a 
huge fire that blazed in the great open fireplace. The old 
man set the lamp on the table. 

“Welcome, monsieur. My name is Pascal Martini. I 
keep a place of public entertainment; you have fallen 
well.” 

“And I am a tourist,” said Hugh. “I was going to 
Agaccio in a car, but got stuck in the snow near the sum- 
mit, and followed a trail that led me here.” 

“It is good,” said Martini. “If you had followed the 
road you would have gotten waist deep in snow. It has 
lasted now for three days, the storm. And to think that 
down near the coast they have oranges and peach trees in 


THE MAN HUNT 


373 


blossom. It is wonderful, our Corsica. We have three 
climates in so small a space. I regret that we are giving 
you at this moment a taste of its most unpleasant one. 
You are wet through. If you will condescend to wear 
some of my poor garments I will give you a complete 
change.” 

Hugh expressed his gratitude, and, standing in the 
glow of the blazing logs, stripped and rubbed himself with 
a rough towel. He felt the glow return to his frozen limbs. 
He put on the woollen shirt, stockings, and the corduroy 
breeches Martini handed to him. 

“The costume of a hunter,” said the inn-keeper. “It 
is chiefly hunters and fishermen who come here. Some- 
times wood-cutters. Occasionally bandits.” 

“Where am IP” asked Hugh. 

“About five miles up in the mountains behind Vizzavona. 
Later in the year hunting parties come and my place is 
always full. Now there is no one. I am indeed glad to 
see you. But I waste time. I must prepare you some 
supper. You must be ravenous.” 

“I am rather.” 

“Ah, my poor monsieur! And I have no meat in the 
house. What a misfortune. All I can offer you is fish, 
fresh mountain trout. Come, you shall see. I will catch 
them fresh from the water.” 

He lit a pine torch at the fire, and taking a scoop-net 
in his hand, led the way to the back of the house where 
Hugh heard the roar of the stream. 

“In the dark you cannot see,” said Martini ; “but it is 
really very picturesque here. The back of my house is 
level with the face of rock that falls to the stream. It 
forms a very deep pool that I call my fish-pond. I stock 
it against the time when I have many guests. At the 


374 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


upper end is a small waterfall, and at the lower I have a 
grill so that the fish cannot escape. You can hear the roar 
of my waterfall. I love it. It is something alive in the 
deadness and silence of the forest. In the night I awake 
and hear its friendly roar. I have been a sailor, monsieur, 
and it reminds me of the sea. In the morning I strip and 
stand under it. I brace myself and let it crash down on 
me ; it beats and stings. In the coldest weather it is only 
pleasantly bitter, a hearty tonic. . . . Now, if monsieur 
will wait here, I will descend the rock and get some fish.” 

As Hugh looked down, he thought how strange and wild 
was the scene. The old man bent over the water and the 
flare of his torch revealed the mysterious depths of the 
pool, and the white curtain of the waterfall. Overhead 
was the harsh foliage of the pines. The inn-keeper 
scooped round in the coppery eddy of the water, 
and presently climbed back up the face of the rock. In 
his net two silvery trout were leaping and gasping. 

“There ! I have already supped ; but I expect you can 
manage both.” 

2 . 

Hugh always remembered that evening before the glori- 
ous fire. He smoked old Pascal’s tobacco, and listened to 
his yarns. The inn-keeper had voyaged far, and could talk 
of many lands, but always he brought the conversation 
back to Corsica. 

“It is the vendetta that makes the bandits,” said Pascal. 
“They are not bad men as a rule. But they have made 
their kill, and from then on are forced to live beyond the 
clutches of the law. Very often it all arises from a politi- 
cal brawl; for we Corsicans are fiery politicians. That 
was the case with Angelo Rocco, who lives in a cave five 


THE MAN HUNT 


375 


kilometres from here. They say he had quite a future 
before him in public life. But one night in a cafe the 
heady Corsican wine was flowing, words ran high, pistols 
were drawn, an opponent of Rocco was shot; and Rocco 
had to take to the mountains. He belongs to a very old 
and distinguished family, too. Every one sympathizes 
with him; even the gendarmes let him alone. He often 
comes here. He can have all I’ve got. . . . But, of 
course, they are not all like that.” 

Hugh saw the inn-keeper through an increasing veil of 
drowsiness. As he leaned forward to prime his pipe in 
the glow of the great fire Pascal was a striking figure, a 
tall, strong, hearty old man with thick grey hair and a 
pleasant smile on his ruddy face. Then suddenly a shadow 
seemed to fall on it; it grew grim, even sinister. The 
tone of his voice changed. 

“No, they are not all like that. Monsieur, I, too, am 
involved in a blood feud. It is for that I sailed the seas 
for half a lifetime; for that I now shutter my windows at 
night. Yet it was long ago, that last vengeance. It was 
a younger brother of mine who fell. He was only a child, 
playing on the doorstep before my mother’s eyes. A 
dark man came out of the mountains and shot him even 
as he rushed to her arms. ‘Bad weeds are best uprooted 
young,’ the murderer said cynically, and went away. . . .” 

Pascal rose suddenly. His face was convulsed with pas- 
sion, his hands knotted. He seemed transformed into a 
savage beast. 

“I’ll get him yet,” he cried. “He’s an old, old man now, 
but I’ll kill him like a dog. Yes, I’ll get him yet. . . .” 

Then the inn-keeper gave an uneasy look at his shut- 
tered windows and added : “That is, if he doesnt get me. 
. . . But here I am, I am yarning away about my own 


376 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


affairs, and monsieur is so weary, he drops asleep. Par- 
don me. Come, I will show you to your room.” 

He conducted Hugh up a steep stairway that gave on 
a narrow corridor. 

“Here are three rooms. I will give you the middle one, 
which is the biggest. It looks out over the valley. To- 
morrow you will see the red fire of the sunrise on the 
snowy peaks.” 

When he had gone, Hugh opened his window. The 
night air was icily pure ; it smelled of snow and 
pines. He breathed it quietly for a time. Against the 
dark blue of the higher heavens rose the black blue of 
mountain pinnacles. In savage majesty they soared 
among the stars. He heard the continuous roar of the 
little waterfall. 

Then a melancholy born of the absolute solitude came 
over him. He longed for the lights of the city, the com- 
fort and security of the streets of Paris. Why Paris? 
Perhaps because Margot was there. He thought of her 
with a sudden poignant sense of desire. He was tired of 
adventures and unrest. He wanted to settle down . . . 
a placid life . . . always. Margot would shield him from 
the w T orries of every day, be like a buffer, make him a 
home. She was that sort. He didn’t want a wife he had 
to fuss over ; he wanted one who would fuss over him. . . . 
But it was too late to think of Margot. She was marrying 
another man. He had lost her. ... In a profound mood 
of gloom and regret, he wearily undressed and went to bed. 

He awoke with a curious sense of fear, a strange stiffen- 
ing of the scalp. Surely he heard the sound of voices. He 
sat up with beating heart and listened. Yes, voices and 
the sound of feet crushing through the crisp snow. . . . 
With a leap he was at the window. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


HUNTED DOWN 


H IS worst fears were realized. 

In the eerie half-light he saw four black shadows 
draw near to the house and a knock at the door 
followed. He heard Pascal grumbling as he got out of 
bed. Then the inn-keeper’s voice: 

“Who is it?” 


The answer came in the harsh metallic voice he knew so 
well. 

“Travellers from Vizzavona. Open quickly. We are 
cold.” 

Pascal was unbolting the door. 

“Pardon, gentlemen. I did not expect guests at so 
late an hour. Please to enter.” 

He heard them stumbling into the big room with the 
fire, then again that grating voice. 

“Ah ! you have another guest ?” 

“Yes, a young man who arrived this evening.” 

“These are his clothes, no doubt, drying by the fire?” 

“Yes, he was very wet.” 

“Then he is sleeping, perhaps. We must not make a 
noise.” 

“Yes, he was very tired. He went to bed early, di- 
rectly after supper. That makes me think. . . . Do the 
messieurs want anything to eat?” 

“No, we have supped. We are tired, however. We 
would sleep. What rooms have you?” 

377 


378 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“There are three upstairs, but the young gentleman has 
the middle one. I can give you gentlemen the others.” 

“Good. You will take one, Castelli; I the other. The 
two men can sleep here by the fire. Now, patron, if 
you have some good brandy, a drop might not be amiss.” 

Hugh had heard enough. He crept back hastily, lock- 
ing his door. He must escape from this house, and 
quickly. He began to dress in the clothes Pascal had 
given him. With a groan he remembered that he had 
left his revolver in the pocket of his coat. Too bad, 
that ! 

Fully dressed, he went to the door and listened again. 
Doctor Bergius and Castelli were being shown upstairs to 
their rooms, one on each side of his own. He heard them 
enter, then Pascal descend the stairs again. All was quiet. 

He opened the window very softly and peered out. It 
was a drop to the ground of about twenty-five feet. He 
dared not risk the fall. Then his heart leaped. At the 
side of the window was a rain pipe running from the roof 
to the around. It would be easy to slide down that. He 
did not knoT\ their plans, but they would wait, no doubt, 
until Pascal had gone to bed before attempting anything. 

A long silence. 

Now there were stealthy steps in the corridor and whis- 
pering. With his ear to the door he listened. His hear- 
ing was unnaturally acute, and he distinctly heard 
Castelli : 

“Gamba, where is Golaz?” 

“Waiting by the door, Master.” 

“Right. Our man is trapped. He can’t escape this 
itime. You and Golaz watch to see he doesn’t descend by 
T the window. If the inn-keeper interferes, settle him. And 
'mind, we must take the Englishman alive. No reckless 


THE MAN HUNT 


379 


shooting. After we’ve got what we want out of him, 
you can do as you please. Now go.” 

Again a long silence. 

Hugh thought, “They suppose I am asleep. Soon they 
will try my door.” 

He waited. Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed. 
Everything was still. One might have thought that all 
the house slept. . . * Some one was gently trying the 
handle of his door, turning it softly first one way and 
then the other. He heard a harsh whisper : “Locked.” 

Again he heard the grating voice of the doctor. “I 
thought so. Well, there’s nothing for it but violence. 
Put your pistol to the lock and burst it.” 

Crash! In the silence of the house the explosion seemed 
terrific. There was a splintering of wood and the lock 
was torn from its fixings. But the bolt still held, and 
though Castelli shook and hammered on the door it would 
not open. Again he heard the voice of Doctor Bergius. 

“Brace yourself against the wall of the corridor. Come, 
w r e’ll both put our strength into it.” 

Hugh heard the door strain, crack. It was stout and 
still held. But it could not last long. In another minute 
it would give way. He ran to the window and leaned out. 
Then he drew in sharply, for from the darkness two bul- 
lets shattered the pane. Golaz and Gamba were on watch 
down there. No escape that way. 

He wheeled around, desperate. The door under the 
combined weight of Castelli and the doctor was beginning 
to bulge, to crack. In another minute they would be in 
the room. He was trapped, unarmed, helpless. He was 
lost. 

Then suddenly the pressure on his door ceased. They 
had paused to listen to what was going on below. The 


380 THE POISONED PARADISE 

inn-keeper had jumped out of bed and run into the 
kitchen. 

Hugh heard him cry: ‘‘What’s wrong! Nom de Dieu! 
What’s the matter? Ho! there, you two fellows! . . . 
Why, they’re gone. Ah! the door’s open. . . 

Daring another shot Hugh leaned from the window. 
Golaz had taken up a position behind the door and as the 
inn-keeper came out, threw his arms around him. In that 
bear hug of a grip, Pascal was as helpless as a child. 
He gave one great, hoarse cry, then Gamba had him by 
the throat. 

The three were locked in a silent, deadly struggle. 
All at once Hugh heard again the ominous crack of the 
breaking door. Now was his time, now or never. He 
would slip down the pipe and then . . . leave the rest to 
luck. As he climbed out on the sill of the window he heard 
a cry of alarm. Golaz and Gamba had seen him. They 
still gripped the inn-keeper. When he slipped to the foot 
of the pipe he, too, would be seized and held. No, that 
way was madness. What to do then? 

There was another way ... up ! The eaves of the 
house were only a few feet above his window. That was it, 
the roof. 

So instead of slipping down the iron pipe, he wriggled 
upward. He clutched the gutter that collected the rain. 
It held and with a fierce jerk he pulled himself level. A 
second later he was sprawling on the slope of the roof. 

From below came a howl of baffled rage. Golaz and 
Gamba were cursing both him and themselves. At the 
same instant Castelli and the doctor burst into the room. 
Soon came the voice of Doctor Bergius from the window. 

“Where is he? Have you seen him?” 

“Yes, the roof. He’s on the roof.” 


THE MAN HUNT 


381 


“Oh, you fools, you cursed fools ! Why did you let him 
get away again? What have you got there?” 

“The inn-keeper. He tried to interfere.” 

“Seems to me he’s lying suspiciously still. Hold on, I’m 
coming down.” 

There was a pause; then again the voice of the doctor. 
“Gamba, you little devil, the man’s dead !” 

“Yes, Master,” said Gamba humbly, “I’m afraid I 
squeezed a little too hard.” 

“Bah! well, too late now. Take the body and throw it 
into the stream at the back. People will think he was 
drowned. Where’s the Englishman?” i 

“One can’t see him. The angle of the house hides him. 
But he’s up there all right.” 

“Very well. You two men dispose of that body; Cas- 
telli, you run back a bit and see if you can see him.” 

Hugh realized that, where he lay flat on the snow- 
covered roof, he was an easy mark. A belated moon 
gleaming through the cloud-fleece, would direct their aim. 
On the other side of the house was darkness and the pro- 
tection of the stream. He must gain that. Keeping his 
feet in the gutter he worked along the roof till he came 
to the end of it, then gripping the slate edge, desperately 
he pulled himself up until he was astride of the ridge. 

A shot whistled past him. That would never do. Cas- 
telli could pick him off* as he crouched low on the ridge. 
He allowed his body to slip a little way down the side 
next to the stream. Thus hidden from them, half em- 
bedded in the snow, he clutched desperately at the angle 
of the ridge and waited. What would they do next? 

Everything was very quiet, a quiet full of menace. Be- 
yond a doubt they were carrying out some fresh scheme. 
The suspense was too great to be borne ; he must know at 


382 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


all costs what they were doing. With a great effort he 
drew himself up and peered over. 

He saw a sight that filled him with terror and despair 
^ . . the head and shoulders of Gamba, appearing over 
the edge of the roof. Stealthy and catlike the little man 
was climbing with no apparent effort. Now he was sliding 
like a monkey along the gutter, now he was drawing 
himself up to the peak, now he was astride the ridge. 
Hugh stared into his black vindictive eyes, saw his lips 
parted in that grin of incredible evil, the revolver held 
ready in his hand. 

“Don’t shoot, Gamba,” he heard the doctor say from 
below. “Get him alive. Make him come down.” 

Gamba bent over and seized Hugh by the arm; behind 
the pointed pistol, his eyes glittered malignantly. 

“Come,” he hissed. 

With a sudden wrench Hugh freed himself from the 
hand that gripped him, and as he did so, he felt himself 
sliding. He clutched desperately at the angle of the 
roof, but in vain. The snow on which he lay was slipping, 
slipping. Gamba clawed at him frantically. Too late! 
the whole snow mass crashed down like a miniature ava- 
lanche. Helpless, turning over in the descent, Hugh went 
with it, down, down over the edge of the roof into the 
black depths below. . . . 

He felt himself rushing through space. His one agoniz- 
ing thought was: “When I stop falling what will I strike? 
Is this the end ?” Then . . . 

He plunged into deep water. Instinctively he broke 
the force of his descent with his arms and legs ; but even 
then he struck the rocky bottom forcibly. He rose 
quickly to the surface. 

He realized that he was in the fish pool, swirling round 


THE MAN HUNT 


383 


and round. He put out his hand and clutched at an ob- 
ject. Ugh! It was the dead body of the inn-keeper. 
Horror and fear maddened him. With half a dozen swift 
strokes, he had gained the opposite bank. He clutched 
hold of some bushes and pulled himself out. 

The men had rushed around to the back of the house, 
and were firing into the black pool. It was so dark that 
they did not see him as he staggered up the rocky bank. 
He heard Doctor Bergius shouting in violent anger: 

“Gamba, I’ll flay you for this. By God, I’ll kill you. 
He’s escaped us again.” 

Yes, he was safe — at least for awhile. He stumbled 
through the darkness of the forest, half crazed, walking 
like a blind man, fear and despair urging him on. 

It seemed to him he must have walked for hours, over 
rocks, through bush, knee deep in streams, always climb- 
ing. His hands and feet were torn and bleeding. At 
length he could go no further. . . . 

Some one was shaking him, telling him to get up. Re- 
luctantly he roused. Above him were a pair of grim, 
scornful eyes and a face stern as Fate. 

Over the hills the dawn was breaking. 


CHAPTER SIX 


THE OUTLAW 


w 


1 . 

’HO are you?” 

The voice that addressed Hugh was rich and 
imperious. 

Hugh looked at the strange face with startled eyes. 
“A hunted man,” he answered. 

The other laughed. “I, too, am a hunted man. Come, 
you are faint with cold and fatigue. I will give you 
shelter.” 

Hugh clutched his arm. “Don’t let them get me,” he 
said with a shudder. 

The other laughed scornfully. “Don’t be afraid. With 
me you will be safe. Come.” 

He lifted Hugh to his feet, and, half supporting him, 
led the way up the rocky path. 

“You see the door of my home?” 

“No, I see nothing.” 

“Yonder black hole in the mountain side. That is my 
front entrance. Incidentally there is a back one for 
my private use, and only known to myself. But maybe 
you have heard of me. I am Angelo Rocco.” 

Hugh started. 

“The ... ah! Celebrity?” 

The man laughed again. 

“Do not be afraid. You are no enemy of mine, and he 
who is not my enemy is my friend. Come, you shall bear 
witness to a bandit’s hospitality.” 

384 


THE MAN HUNT 


385 


They reached the mouth of the cave. 

“See,” said Rocco, “from here I can overlook the whole 
mountain side. If twenty men came to take me, I could 
shoot them all down before they reached the door. If 
fifty came I could shoot half, and the other half would 
look for me in vain. But then no one troubles me. It is 
understood if I keep out of the way they will leave me 
alone.” 

They crossed the threshold of the cave. For some dis- 
tance it was well lighted by the circular entrance. 
Blankets were hung over the walls ; furs were strewn on 
the floor. A hammock swung from staples fixed in the 
rock. On either side were two long banquettes of oak, and 
near one of them a black cupboard, on the door of which 
hung a large ivory crucifix. Rocco threw open one of the 
banquettes. 

“Look ! there are some dry clothes. Change into them. 
Wrap some of these blankets about you, and lie down. I 
will make a fire and give you some hot soup.” 

Hugh did as he was told. He had almost dropped off 
to sleep when Rocco brought him a big bowl of soup. It 
was rich and meaty. After he had drunk it, he could no 
longer fight against his drowsiness and closing his eyes, 
slept as he had never done before. 

2 . 

He awakened gradually, and with a growing sense of 
tranquillity. The cave was brightening in the light of an- 
other dawn. Outlined against the sky and framed in the 
circle of the doorway he saw the superb figure of Angelo 
Rocco. The bandit turned and greeted him. 


386 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“A moment ago,” he said, “I saw a shadow moving at 
the edge of the pine wood. Ha ! there it is again.” 

He snatched up a rifle and fired. 

“There ! that will frighten him, whoever he is. If he 
means no harm, let him come out into the open. Now I 
will give you some breakfast. My friends keep me sup- 
plied with food from the city. I shoot game, but once in 
a while it is good to eat civilized food.” 

They had a breakfast of coffee, bacon and bread. 
Afterwards they smoked, and Rocco talked. Hugh 
watched him in admiration. Never had he seen such a 
perfect man. He was tall, strong and springy as a 
panther. He had ebony black hair, and a clipped beard 
and moustache, which did not conceal the strength and 
character of his face. His fine lips had a haughty twist 
and his dark eyes were full of stormy fire. He moved with 
grace, carrying himself like a king. 

“You must stay here for some days,” he told Hugh. 
“Rest your nerves. I am glad of a guest. With me you 
will be safe.” 

He rose, looked keenly over the mountain side, then 
came slowly back. 

“I see no more shadows. For a time at least we have 
driven off your wolves. Who are they?” 

Hugh gave an account of the fight at the inn. When 
he came to the death of Pascal, Rocco’s face grew dark. 

“They killed him, the devils ! My good friend, Pere 
Pascal. And who is there then to avenge him? You know, 
here in Corsica, a life must pay for a life. I had no wish 
to kill another man. There has been too much killing. 
But my friend . . . my old friend . . . w T ell, we will see.” 

After that Rocco grew restless. He strode up and down 


THE MAN HUNT 


387 


the cave, constantly stopping at the door to stare out. 
At last he said to Hugh: 

“If you do not mind being alone, I will go down into 
the forest. If any one should come, you must retreat 
by the passage to the left. In case you want to sleep I 
will show you where you will be safe.” 

A jut of rock nearly closed the passage, but further 
on it opened out again. At the end of fifty yards it 
appeared to come to a stop. Rocco held up the light 
he carried, and showed Hugh a cleft high up in the 
rock. It was lined with furs and formed a kind of natural 
bunk. 

“Here is where I sleep when the gendarmes are in the 
neighbourhood. You will be safe here. If you should be 
further pursued, you have only to roll over that boulder 
at the far end. Under it you will find a hole down 
which you can lower yourself. It leads to a subterranean 
gallery which has many branches and where no one can 
find you. Only be careful not to get lost. And the boul- 
der too, — I fear it may be heavy for you to move. But 
I do not expect to be long absent. In the meantime I do 
not think any one will trouble you.” 

2 . 

As he descended the mountain, the bandit kept well 
under cover. Hugh watched him till he disappeared into 
the forest. From the mouth of the cave a magnificent 
panorama outspread. The mountains looked as if they 
had been hacked out by an angry god. Their flanks were 
naked. Moving cloud masses scarfed them for a moment, 
only to be rent aside again, and reveal new vistas of 


388 THE POISONED PARADISE 

desolation. The vast abyss of the valley was packed with 
pines. 

The time passed slowly and Rocco seemed to be long 
in returning. At noon Hugh relit the fire and cooked 
himself some food. He found that one of the banquettes 
was stored with provisions, the other with clothes. 
Rocco had things well arranged. 

When he had finished eating, he let the little fire go 
out, and sat gazing over the valley, dreaming away the 
hours. . . . Margot would be married on the seventeenth, 
that day week. The thought made him miserable. He 
felt he would give anything to prevent the marriage. He 
tried to analyze his feelings. He wanted her and yet he 
did not want her. He wanted her because another man 
wanted her; or rather, while he didn’t want her himself, 
he did not want any one else to get her, — a most dog-in- 
the-mangerish feeling. He told himself that it had all 
worked out for the best. She would probably be happier 
with the other man. He envied him. Margot was a 
jewel of a girl, sweet, gentle, devoted. She would make a 
ripping little wife. He was sorry he did not love her, at 
least not in the mad, passionate way that mattered. He 
just couldn’t care for people in that crazy, headlong 
fashion. He was a cool, unsentimental sort of a chap. 
Or was he, really? . . . 

Heigh ho ! the time was long. What was keeping Rocco? 
What a pity about that man, condemned to pass the rest 
of his life in a prison of infinite earth and sky. He looked 
around at the few primitive comforts of the cave. There 
were some books, all on political economy or sociology. 
Yes, a great pity ! A man of force and ability sacrificed 
because of a youthful excess of ardour. His friends said 
that Rocco had fired in self-defence ; but the friends of the 


THE MAN HUNT 


389 


dead man were in power. All at once Hugh had an 
idea, a fantastic idea. Yes, that was what he would 
do. . . . 

Heigh ho ! again. The time was infernally long. It 
must be about three in the afternoon. How still the 
mountainside was. Nothing moved. Suppose he slept a 
little! Taking a blanket, he crawled along the dark 
passage to the left, climbed up into the cleft and curled 
snugly in his blanket. Heigh ho ! . . . 

3. 

He’ was awakened from a sound sleep by hearing some 
one moving in the outer part of the cave. The bandit 
must be wondering what had become of him. He was 
about to jump down from his perch and greet Rocco 
when the thought came to him: 

“Perhaps it is not he after all. I must be cautious.” 

He crawled along the narrow passage, and peered 
around the shoulder of rock that blocked its entrance. 
Then he drew a deep, gasping breath, for this is what he 
saw : 

Seated on one of the oak banquettes was Doctor Ber- 
gius. He was leaning forward in an attitude of fatigue; 
his eyes — so wide open that their yellow pupils looked like 
rings — glared at the rock behind which Hugh was peering. 
Hugh thought himself discovered; fear paralyzed him. 
From the darkness he stared back at the doctor. But it 
was evident the doctor did not see him, did not see anything 
in fact. His stare was that of abstraction; his mouth 
had the twist of a savage beast; his face was set in an 
expression of rage and despair. 

Then Hugh saw Castelli, at the mouth of the cave, 


390 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


looking anxiously down the mountain side. He, too, 
looked weary and desperate. The third of the party was 
Gamba. Gamba alone showed no sign of hardship. The 
little man. compact of all that was fierce and tenacious, 
was hunting round the cave like a nosing terrier. Hugh 
started to draw cautiously back when suddenly he heard 
a hoarse shout from Doctor Bergius. 

“Castelli.” 

Castelli wheeled round sharply. 

“Well, doctor?” 

“Castelli, you and I have got to have a heart-to-heart 
talk. Here and now is a good time. Castelli, you dis- 
trust me.” 

The Italian started, made a gesture of protest. The 
doctor strode up to him. 

“Oh, Pve noticed it for some time. The others, too. 
All of you distrust me. If I thought there was anything 
in the nature of a conspiracy between you, I’d blow you 
to hell this instant.” 

The doctor was glowering down at the Italian. With 
p savage gesture he drew a revolver. 

Castelli looked at him coolly. 

“Go ahead, doctor,” he said. “As a matter of fact I 
don’t distrust you, but I can’t answer for the other two. 
You must admit that things aren’t very clear. You 
played all the other men false. You left them stranded on 
the Italian shore without a sou of the money. You 
brought it here for us to make a divide. Then you told 
us you had lost it ; that it had been stolen from you by that 
fool of an Englishman in a manner you must admit to be 
fantastic Can you blame them if they think you want to 
bilk them, too? Now, personally, I believe you; but if 
we don’t find this Englishman and recover the money, I 


THE MAN HUNT 


391 


give you fair warning there is likely to be trouble. It’s 
no use threatening me, doctor. Remember we are three 
against one, and none of us very squeamish about taking 
life.” 

“By God, it’s true, Castelli. I’ve been outwitted, and 
by a fool. Aye, that’s what hurts. He must have spied 
on me at the hotel. I could not take the bag about with 
me everywhere. He profited by an hour’s absence, only 
an hour, to get possession of it. He’s got it, got it all. 
He’s hidden it till he can come back safely and get it away. 
That’s why we’ve got to find him, got to hunt him down. 
He mustn’t leave the island. He’s here somewhere in these 
cursed wilds. He must not escape us. We’ve got to get 
him, Castelli; and, when we do, I’ll torture him till he 
tells ; then kill him afterwards with my own hands. Ha ! 
that will be the happiest moment in my life, — when I kill 
the dog.” 

“Well,” said Castelli, “we haven’t got him yet ! There’s 
no use wasting time ; it’s evident he’s not here.” 

“Leave no stone unturned. It was just a chance that 
he might have taken refuge with this Rocco. Where is 
the fellow ? He might at least be able to give us some in- 
formation.” 

“Gone off hunting probably. Still he’s been here not 
so long ago. See, the ashes of his fire are still hot.” 

“We may as well go. We’ve no time to spare. Stay! 
as we are here, we might as well search the place. There 
are three passages. I’ll take the centre one; Gamba can 
search the one to the right, while you examine the one to 
the left. Got an electric torch?” 

“No, matches.” 

“All right. Go ahead.” 

Feeling his way along the wall, Hugh ran back into the 


392 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


darkness. There was not a moment to lose; Castelli was 
almost in the passage. He must escape. Ah ! the boulder 
that concealed the secret exit ! He reached it and 
tried to move it. In vain! Again he tried with all his 
strength. He was able to budge it only a few inches. 
Castelli was already at the opening. No, he could not 
shift this cursed boulder; he would be caught like a rat 
in a hole ! Castelli was in the passage now, trying to light 
a match. As Hugh flung himself flat against the rocky 
wall, his uplifted hands came in contact with the ledge 
of the cleft where he had been sleeping. Quick as thought 
he drew himself up and shrank back till he was wedged into 
the rock itself. 

Castelli was fumbling and stumbling. He was striking 
a fresh match every minute and swearing audibly. Hugh 
saw a faint glow, then darkness, then the glow again. 
Castelli did not like his job; but he was taking no chances. 
Nearer and nearer he drew. Now he had come to the end 
of the passage, just below Hugh’s hiding place. 

“Sapristi! My last match,” Castelli muttered. He 
struck it, holding it high above his head, and examined 
the opposite wall. The light just came to the ledge within 
a foot of Hugh’s face. Then Hugh did something for 
which he was proud as long as he lived. Reaching for- 
ward, he softly blew out the light. 

He heard Castelli curse ; but the Italian had his back to 
him and did not realize where the draft had come from. 

“There! that’s out,” he exclaimed. “But there’s noth- 
ing here. I’m off.” 

Hugh breathed freely again as he heard Castelli groping 
his way out. He could scarcely realize his luck. On such 
small things human destiny often turns. Had Castelli 
possessed another match he would surely have been dis- 


THE MAN HUNT 


393 


covered. He raised himself, confident of his safety, and 
listened. He heard the distant voice of the doctor. 

“No sign of any one. The passages Gamba and I ex- 
amined dwindled away in the rock.” 

“Mine, too, came to an end,” said Castelli. “I felt the 
walls all round. Not even a rat-hole.” 

Then the voices ceased and Hugh heard the men scram- 
bling out of the cave. 

4 . 

Darkness had fallen and still Rocco did not return. 
The cave mouth was a ring of velvety blue patterned with 
stars. The air was exquisitely cold and pure. As Hugh 
cowered in the darkness he wrapped himself in a blanket. 
The silence was breathless, acute. Staring up at the blue 
circle of sky, he listened to the beating of his heart. Then 
suddenly, noiselessly, a dark form loomed up between him 
and the stars. It was Rocco. 

The bandit walked like one very weary. He threw him- 
self down and lit a cigarette. After he had drunk the 
soup Hugh heated for him, he drew a deep sigh. 

“You have been long,” commented Hugh. 

“Yes,” said Rocco; “I have done much, seen much, 
learned much. Incidentally I have killed a man.” 

Hugh gazed at Rocco in silence. After a deliberate 
pause the bandit went on: 

“Yes, I killed him, or was the means of his meeting his 
death. I will tell you.” 

Through the mouth of the cave came the pure air per- 
fumed with pines. Hugh wrapped his blanket around him 
and settled down to listen. In the darkness he could see 
the glowing tip of a cigarette, and from behind it hear 
the roll of a rich voice. 


394 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“When I left you,” said the voice, “I went to the inn. I 
found the body of poor Pascal in the pool. There was a 
bullet wound in the head. They must have struck him 
when they fired at you. However, that does not matter. 
Pascal has an enemy. The crime will be put down to the 
vendetta. A convenient institution, the vendetta ; it covers 
a multitude of sins.” 

There was a reflective pause. The cigarette glowed and 
faded; then the sonorous voice went on: 

“I took my poor dead friend out of the water and car- 
ried him into the kitchen of the inn. I laid him on the 
table, straightened his limbs, folded his hands over his 
breast, and put a crucifix between them. Then I knelt 
down and said a prayer for the welfare of his soul. . . .” 

The voice was silent for a little. The round mouth of 
the cave was brightening, and the stars shrinking back af- 
frighted. The voice grew tense. 

“It was while I was praying that the man entered. He 
saw neither myself nor the body, for the place was in 
darkness. He went over to where your clothes were and 
began to search them, the pockets, the lining. It was 
while he was doing this that I put a pistol to his 
head.” 

A deep laugh awoke the echoes of the cave. Into its 
circular mouth crept the silver edge of the moon. 

“I never saw a man so scared. You should have seen 
him jump. I backed him against the wall with his hands 
high in the air. I pointed to the dead man. ‘You killed 
him,’ said I. He shook his head. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘you 
helped to kill him. Tell me, and I’ll give you a chance 
for life. Otherwise I’ll shoot you where you stand.’ Then 
he told me that he had seized and held Pascal while his 
comrade had strangled him. ‘So,’ I said, ‘that was the 


THE MAN HUNT 


395 


way of it. Well, you are equally guilty, but you shall 
have a chance for your life. Have you a knife?’ ” 

Rocco’s cigarette went out. He took his time to light 
another. The velvet circle cut the moon in half. Hugh 
could see the face of Rocco now, a pale, grim, tragic face. 
The bandit went on : 

“ ‘Yes, I have a knife,’ answered the man. ‘And can 
you use it?’ I asked. ‘None better,’ said he. I marched 
him out of the place to the clearing in front of the inn. 
‘Now,’ I said, ‘look ... I throw away my rifle, my pistol. 
Knife to knife we will fight it out. You for your life; I 
to avenge my friend. Is it well?’ And he answered me; 
‘It is well.’ ” 

Rocco rose and stood before Hugh. The full round 
of the moon was framed in the circle of the cave-mouth. 
It lit up the magnificent figure of the bandit, as he went 
on: 

“The man was a brute, but he was brave. His eyes 
gleamed. I could see in them the joy of the fight. He 
thought he had me. He drew a long bladed knife. I 
drew mine. There in the forest we circled round, watch- 
ing each other like two cats. Suddenly he leaped. He was 
holding his knife like a sword, point up to strike at the 
belly. I caught his wrist as he stabbed. Then I dropped 
my own weapon. I reached round him and forced his 
knife hand behind his back. He was strong; I never wres- 
tled with a stronger. We had a tough struggle; and they 
say there is not in all Corsica my match for strength. 
Slowly, surely, I twisted his knife hand behind him; then 
suddenly I tripped him up. He fell, fell on the point of 
his own knife. It went right through his back and stuck. 
He died quickly. You would not say I killed him, would 
you?” 


396 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“No; without going into details, one might say he 
stabbed himself.” 

“That’s it. Damn details. I do not want to have an- 
other death at my door. Well, that’s one of your enemies 
settled. And the other three. . . . Oh, I know they came 
here. I was afraid they had got you; they are hunting 
for you high and low. They have horses and spies. The 
stations are all guarded; the country people warned. A 
dazzling price is set on your head. So much I have heard 
from some wood-cutter friends of mine. Alas ! my young 
friend, I fear Corsica is too hot for you. The sooner you 
are out of our brave little island the better.” 

“What must I do?” 

“There’s a boat sails for Marseilles to-morrow. You 
must catch it.” 

“But how?” 

“I will conduct you by a secret trail through the woods 
to the railway, at a point only fifteen miles from Agaccio. 
After that you must take your chance. See, I have 
brought your clothes from the inn. Now we will both 
sleep, for we must be up at dawn; you have a long, hard 
day before you. Believe me, I do not exaggerate the 
danger you are in. But I will do my best for you, and 
I hope you will get through. Now sleep. . . .” 

Hugh stretched himself out in his blanket ; as he closed 
his eyes, the moon sailed out of the pool of sky and the 
cave was plunged in darkness. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


THE LAST LAP 

1 . 

A LITTLE after daylight they left the cave and de- 
scended the mountain. With Rocco leading they 
plunged into the first fringe of forest and by a 
a little toe-trail travelled swiftly, keeping high above the 
valley. Hugh saw nothing but the sombre pine trunks. 
They encountered no one and the silence was profound. 
Rocco spoke little. Once or twice he stopped to listen, 
then, seemingly satisfied, went on at the same rapid pace. 
At noon they made a short halt for lunch. 

They w T ere gradually descending. The sharpness of the 
mountain air had given way to a softer temperature, the 
pines had yielded to oaks. At first the oaks had been 
bare branched, then they were clothed with leafage. 
Underfoot, too, the grey had given way to brown, the 
brown in turn yielded to green. They were dropping 
through the temperate zone to the warmer one of the 
coast. 

It was early afternoon when Rocco stopped and turned 
to Hugh. 

“This is as far as I dare go,” said he. “I think you can 
manage alone. You must descend that path to the rail- 
way. You will then be about fifteen miles above Agaccio. 
The road almost parallels the railway. You will have to 
wait to travel it until the dusk, and should get to the 
town about nine o’clock. The boat leaves at ten. If 

397 


398 THE POISONED PARADISE 

nothing happens you should catch it. Have you any 
money ?” 

Hugh had not thought of that. He searched his 
pockets. 

“No, they got all.” 

“Take this. I have no use for money as you can see.” 

He handed Hugh a note for five hundred francs. 

“Oh, I can’t accept that.” 

“Come now. Consider it a loan. You will repay me 
some day.” 

“All right. But let’s sit down and have a smoke before 
we separate.” 

They flung themselves under a tree and lit their 
cigarettes. 

“Look here,” said Hugh suddenly, “what would you do 
if you had a lot of money, say three million francs. 

Rocco showed his white teeth in a derisive smile. 

“What would I do with three million francs? Why, 
first of all I would buy my pardon; then I would go into 
politics again. I would devote my life to the welfare of 
Corsica. With all that money one could almost change 
the destiny of our people. Ah! what a dream. . . .” 

“I can tell you where you will find three million francs. 
You can take or leave them as you choose. Only let it be 
a secret between us.” 

“That is understood,” said Rocco gravely. 

Hugh described where he had hidden the money, and 
sketched the events which had led up to its coming into 
his possession. When he had finished, Rocco sat in si- 
lence ; his eyes brooded sombrely, his brows below his lofty 
forehead knitted in thought. Hugh watched his face, that 
fine Roman face so full of virility and courage. Beyond 
a doubt he was stirred by ambitious dreams. Hugh was 


THE MAN HUNT 399 

reminded of Napoleon. Might this, too, not be a man of 
destiny? Suddenly Rocco roused himself. 

“I do not know. It needs reflection. It is too stupen- 
dous. I may take the money and use it for my country ; 
but if I do not, you will be sure it will remain there un- 
touched, perhaps forever. . . . But now you must be on 
your way. You have far to go; see, already the sun is 
declining. You must reach the Agaccio road before dusk, 
and then hurry, hurry to the boat. And now good-bye. 
Good luck to you.” 

“Good-bye. I’ll never forget you.” 

The two men shook hands with a long grip. As Hugh 
turned on the downward trail, he looked back at the tall, 
graceful figure of Rocco, standing erect with folded arms. 
He waved his hand and Rocco took off his broad-brimmed 
hat. Then a turn of the trail parted them forever. 

2 . 

It seemed to Hugh that he must have taken a wrong 
turning, for the trail, which had been growing less and 
less defined, suddenly disappeared. He was lost in the 
forest. Night was approaching. However, by keeping 
on down the hill, he must eventually come to either 
the road or the railway. He struck into a brisker 
pace, and, as there was no underbrush, made rapid prog- 
ress. He had been descending for perhaps half an hour, 
when he heard a welcome sound, the whistle of a train. 
A little further on the forest lifted, and the line of rail- 
way lay below him. 

Less than a kilometre away, was the station; a freight 
train laden with logs was drawing ponderously out. He 
decided to let it pass, before continuing down the track. 


400 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


He waited impatiently. It had occurred to him that 
perhaps he was exposing himself too much; and he was 
drawing back when he heard a shout, ... a shout of 
fury and of triumph. 

With a heart leap of fear he recognized the three men 
who were hunting him. What ghastly misfortune! 
They were on horseback too. Castelli, who had been 
searching the hillside with a pair of powerful glasses, 
had been the one to discover him. He handed the glasses 
to Doctor Bergius and pointed to Hugh. At the same 
instant Gamba leaped from his horse, crossed the railway 
track and launched in pursuit. 

For a dazed moment Hugh cursed his folly in thus ex- 
posing himself, then turned and crashed back into the 
brush. It was very thick and he made progress with dif- 
ficulty. At this rate he would surely be caught. Then 
to his joy, he came upon a little trail that descended and 
skirted the railway. He raced along it. 

Once with panting lungs he stopped to listen. Was he 
being followed? He heard a cracking of underbrush; 
Gamba had taken a short cut and was appallingly near. 
Hugh tore on again. The trail broke from the forest and 
skirted a bluff that overhung the railway, running along it 
for about three hundred yards. As Hugh came out on 
this exposed stretch his heart sank. Here at last he was 
surely trapped. To his right was the steep cut to the 
railway, to the left the dense brush of the forest. The 
only way of escape was straight ahead. If only he could 
make the end of the pathway before Gamba reached him. 
. . . Well, he must do his best. 

He had gone but a short distance when Gamba crashed 
into the open. The little man was as fleet as a deer, as 
sure-footed as a goat. Hugh knew he had no chance; 


THE MAN HUNT 


401 


but with the strength of despair he pounded on. There 
was a roaring in his ears. The train ! It was puffing and 
clanking below him. Gamba was gaining on him fast. As 
he dashed on, Hugh noticed that the bluff dipped, so that 
in one place it was only about ten feet above the track. If 
he could make this gap, leap the track and reach the gully 
that lay on the other side, there was a chance he might 
yet escape. He made a desperate spurt to gain it. 

But he had reckoned without the train. As he got to 
the lowest point of the cut, it was passing just below him. 
Again luck was against him. He must wait until all 
those heavy wagons had lumbered by. Gamba was only 
fifty yards behind him. Oh, that cursed train! Would 
it never pass ! But why wait ? Why not ... ah ! that 
was an idea. Desperate, maybe, but he would stick at 
nothing. . . . Nerving himself he leaped, and fell sprawl- 
ing on the train. 

Fortunately he landed between two huge logs. He was 
bruised and shaken, but he raised himself immediately. 
He had alighted about midway in the line of wagons and 
there were three others still to pass the place from which 
he had jumped. Now one had passed, then the second, 
then, just as the third and last wagon was rumbling 
by Gamba reached the point. 

He hesitated, stared for a moment as if confused, 
then caught sight of Hugh. He looked down at the last 
of the passing wagons. Was he, too, going to jump? 
Hugh held his breath. No, Gamba could not 
make it. That little moment of hesitation had been fatal; 
even as he crouched to spring, the last wagon rolled from 
beneath him. 

Hugh heard a yell of anger. As if dumbfounded, 
Gamba stood on the point of rock shaking his fists in 


402 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


impotent rage at the train carelessly lumbering on its way. 

It grew dark quite suddenly. Hugh heard the puffing 
of the engine, and saw a cloud of steam with an under- 
glow of orange. In spite of his bruises he was feeling 
extravagantly happy. How lucky to have jumped on 
the train ! At the rate they were going he would be in 
Agaccio in an hour. He breathed freely now. Freedom, 
safety lay ahead. Soon, very soon, he would be on the 
boat for Marseilles. Then ho ! for Paris. . . . What was 
the matter? They were slowing up. 

Yes, they were stopping at a station. He hoped it 
would not be a long stop. In any case he must be well 
ahead of his pursuers by now . . . that is, if they had not 
given up the pursuit. There in the dusk he lay between 
the two great logs, and once more congratulated himself 
on his escape. The air was rich with the perfume of 
pines, and the stars were like glow-worms in the fields of 
heaven. 

Hark ! What was that ? He was horribly nervous. As 
he strained his ears, he fancied he heard the distant beat 
of galloping hoofs. They came nearer. He heard them 
drumming on the road that ran beside the railway track. 
He might have known it ; his enemies were racing to cut 
him off. Had they arrived at the station before the train, 
they could have easily captured him. What an escape! 
And now they were drawing closer. When they got too 
close, he would take to the forest. Then the awful nerve- 
racking hunt would begin again. 

In imagination he saw them, spurring and lashing their 
horses, straining every nerve to reach the station before 
the train pulled out. Would it never start? The drum- 
ming hoofs sounded very near indeed. The engine-driver 
lighted his pipe, and made some joking remark to the 


THE MAN HUNT 403 

station master. At last, he turned and jumped up to his 
cab. Thank God ! the train was in motion. 

It cleared the station and gathered speed, plunging once 
more into the forest. And not a moment too soon! 
Hugh looked back to see three horsemen dash into the 
light, leap from their horses and run forward. Too 
late! . . . 

A few miles further on the train came to another halt. 
Perhaps it was imagination, but Hugh thought he heard 
again the sound of furious galloping. He heaved a sigh 
of relief when once more they were under way. 

Soon the lights of Agaccio appeared and the train 
slowed up. Hugh jumped down and made for the har- 
bour. With a thrill of joy he boarded the steamer, and, 
going forward, mingled with a crowd of garlic-flavoured 
Corsicans. 

When the boat cleared and blew her whistle it sounded 
to him like a hoarse bellow of triumph. As she stood out 
to sea he looked back at the lights of the harbour. He 
fancied he still heard the galloping of exhausted horses, 
and the curses of three maddened men. Perhaps they were 
there now, standing on the wharf, gazing in rage and 
despair after the departing steamer. He hoped they were. 

“Corsica, farewell!” he cried. “As long as I live I’ll 
never set foot on your shores again. I’m free, free once 
more. And now for Paris . . . Margot. . . .” 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


MARGOT 

H OW strange is the romance of destiny! Four 
nights before he had lain in a cave in the hinter- 
land of Corsica, listening to a brigand’s tale of 
blood, and now, behold, he was in Paris, walking the 
Boulevard Montparnasse, and searching for a certain 
number. 

He found it, an old house sandwiched between two 
modern ones. Looking up to it’s mansarded roof he saw 
a window alight, a window with a small balcony. That 
must be her room. He had heard her speak of it so often, 
her “Mansard of Dreams” as she called it. His heart 
beat excitedly ; then suddenly he saw a shadow on the 
blind. Yes, it was her shadow, Margot’s. Should he 
go up? He thought not. It was too late. She was prob- 
ably very busy, preparing for the morrow, her marriage 
morn. No, he would not bother her to-night. 

While he was thus arguing with himself, his feet were 
carrying him to the door. A fat concierge was giving a 
Pekinese spaniel an airing. Suddenly he heard himself 
asking 

“Does Mademoiselle Leblanc live here?” 

“Yes, monsieur. Fifth floor. Door to the right.” 

It sounded like an invitation to go up, and he accepted 
it. As he mounted the broken stairs, his heart beat faster. 
Very silly this ! Why should making a call on her so 
excite him? It was hard to believe that she was there. 

404 


THE MAN HUNT 


405 


It seemed years since he had seen her, — far back in a 
somewhat uncertain past. 

He found himself at the door, knocking. How his con- 
founded heart was knocking too ! Damn! He could hear 
her moving about inside. Perhaps she thought it was 
some one else. Perhaps when she saw it was he, she would 
be disappointed. She was taking a long time to open 
the door. He felt a great longing come over him, a great 
tenderness. He would take her in his arms, kiss her, 
overwhelm her with passionate caresses. 

He did none of these things. When the door opened, 
he was the punctilious, rather cold, young man she had al- 
ways known. 

“Good evening,” he said politely. 

“You!” 

She stood staring at him ; her blue eyes big in her pale 
face; her hands up to her heart as if to still its tumult. 
She wore a loose black peignoir that showed off by con- 
trast the pearly whiteness of her skin. Against the back- 
ground of her pale gold hair her face was delicately sweet. 
For the hundredth time she reminded him of a lily. 

“It is, indeed, you?” 

She took both his hands and pulled him gently into the 
room. She had pinned up her hair rather hastily, and it 
came tumbling about her. As she raised her hands again 
to pile it about her head, he stopped her. 

“No, leave it like that. It was like that the first time 
I saw } 7 ou. I will always think of you that way.” 

She let it fall, a shimmering cape around her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said faintly, “to receive you in this 
poor shabby room. Please sit down on that chair. It’s 
my only one.” 


406 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


He took it. She herself sat down on the edge of the 
bed, facing him. 

“I hurried to get here,” he told her awkwardly. “I 
wanted to be present at the ceremony, — even if only as a 
spectator in the background.” 

“What ceremony?” 

“Your wedding, to-morrow.” 

“Why, didn’t you know? I wrote to tell you I’d re- 
fused him.” 

“I didn’t get the letter. You refused him. . . . Why?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t care enough for 
him. I don’t think shall ever marry.” 

“And what are you doing now?” 

“Working, — with Jeanne. We are taking a shop. I 
thought it was she when you knocked.” 

“Are you happy?” 

“Yes, happier than I have ever been in my life.” 

“And I am more miserable.” 

“You! Why?” 

“Because . . . I’m lonely. Look here, Margot, I want 
you. I only realized how much I needed you after you 
went away — how much you mean to me. I say, Margot, 
I suppose I’m a stiff, cold sort of a chap. I can’t do the 
sentimental stuff. I can’t make pretty speeches, but I 
really do care for you.” 

“As a sister?” 

“No, an awful lot more than that! I can’t do without 
you, dear. I know it now. T knew it the moment I’d 
thought I’d lost you. Don’t tell me I’ve lost you, Mar- 
got.” 

He leaned forward, staring anxiously into her eyes. 
She sat quite still, her breath coming fast. 


THE MAN HUNT 


407 


“Marry me, Margot,” he faltered, “Me!” 

She seemed made of ice. “That’s very kind of you,” 
she said. 

“Not at all, Margot. Believe me, I’m not kind. I’m 
humble. I’m pleading. I’ll get down on my knees if you 
like.” 

“No, please don’t.” 

“Look here. . . .” He suddenly leaned forward. He 
took a handful of her shining hair and twisted it into a 
great golden rope, then wound it around her white throat. 

“Margot,” he said savagely, “if you don’t say yes, I’ll 
strangle you right here. Say yes.” 

“Is it to save my life I must say yes?” 

“Your life — and mine.” 

“Well, if it’s to save yours, too . . . Yes !” 

The tension was over. He rose. He was radiant. He 
laughed. 

“I’ll see the British Consul to-morrow; and we’ll get 
hitched up in a few days. Now I’m going. I want to be 
alone, to realize my happiness, to sing to the stars. I 
want to celebrate, to get drunk. Margot, may I get 
drunk to-night?” 

“What !” 

“With joy I mean. I want to sit in a cafe by myself 
and let my happiness soak in gradually. I want to 
smile like an idiot over a cafe creme and have people 
look at me twice, and say, ‘Mais . . . il est fou, ce gars 
la. . . * I want to laugh loudly at the moon, and dance 
the can-can by the Carpeaux fountain. Oh Margot, 
Margot. ...” 

Down in the street a passing sergent de ville who hap- 
pened to look up at the lighted mansard window, saw two 


408 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


separate shadows on the blind. The masculine shadow 
reached out to the feminine one, then the two shadows 
became one. 

“Ah! Ces amour eux!” he remarked with a shrug as 
he went on his way. 


CHAPTER NINE 


AND LAST 

A YEAR later Hugh sat at his desk, reading the 
following letter: 

My Dear Chap: 

I wrote to you in Menton, and the letter came back. 
But the other day a man in the office saw you in Paris 
and gave me your address. He also gave me a very good 
account of you ; I am glad, for I have often felt anxious 
about you. I hope now that you have again taken up 
the burden of the wage-earner, you are not finding it 
too heavy. I’ve become a professional ink-slinger. You 
remember me as a dilettante, a trifler. I wrote whimsical 
essays ; I cultivated an urbane humour. Then one day in 
a fantastic mood I started a burlesque of the German 
spy novel. I showed it to a bloated publisher who refused 
to publish it as a burlesque, but suggested that it would 
go as a serious effort. He thought the public would 
take it that way. The public did. 

So now behold me, a popular author, a six shilling 
shocker to my credit, another half-done, and many more 
in my mental incubator. 

Of course, on the strength of my success I resigned from 
Gummage & Meek. We had saved a few thousand pounds, 
so if literature proves more of a staff than a crutch, we 
won’t be altogether on the rocks. Better still, a prepos- 
terously rich bachelor brother of my wife’s has promised 

409 


410 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


to see the two boys through school and college. In short, 
I find at last my dream realized. I am free to cultivate 
my literary cail-yaird. 

I want now to find some quiet place where I can live in 
a leisurely way, polish my gems, and generally lead a 
pleasant, tolerant, contemplative life. Do you, with your 
knowledge of the south of France, know of such a place? 
The exchange rate now is so advantageous. 

Please rub a little liniment on your strong right arm, 
grip your pen with intense determination, and favour me 
with a few lines. 

Sincerely, 

Arthur Ainger. 


Hugh looked round the shabby but comfortable room 
he called his den. There was a roll-top desk, crimson- 
curtained book shelves, a big easy chair by the window, 
many unframed canvases on the walls. His eyes rested 
on each article with loving satisfaction. 

“Good old chap,” he said, “I’ll answer his letter right 
away.” 

So he sat down at his desk and began: 


Dear Mr. Ainger : 

I am more than ashamed that I have never written to 
you; but so many things have happened. To begin with 
I have a modest apartment near the Luxemburg Gardens. 
I was married a year ago. My wife’s a jolly good sort. 
You’d like her. I intended after my marriage to get 
work of some kind, but the unexpected happened. It seems 
I had a maternal grand-mother living in Monaco. She 
had quarrelled with my mother; and though she gave 


THE MAN HUNT 


411 


consent to the marriage she refused to be reconciled. 
When she died it was found she had left everything to me. 
They had some trouble in finding me, but through the 
old chap who brought me up, they eventually did. 

I now find myself the owner of a property in the Conda- 
mine that nets me twelve thousand francs a year, enough 
for two quiet people to jog along on quite comfortably. 
After all, I’ve come to the conclusion I’m one of those 
simple souls who want to slip through life with as little 
trouble as possible to themselves and to every one else. 

My hobbies are cars and painting. I am the proud 
possessor of a little Buggatti in which I whiz the wife out 
to Barbizon occasionally. Otherwise I attend the Ecole 
des Beaux Arts and am doing quite well. In time I hope 
I’ll mate an averagely good artist, and occasionally sell 
a croute. 

I am so glad to hear of your success. The sort of books 
you write are the sort I like. But then I am not exacting, 
and read to take my mind off the monotony of existence. 
Sometimes, you know, on a wet day when one can’t paint 
and there’s no billiard table, a good yarn’s not a bad 
thing to pass the time. I imagine there’s a whole lot 
like me. 

By the way, you speak of finding a quiet corner where 
you can hole up and live cheaply. I have a little cottage 
at Villefranche which I can offer you. There’s not much 
in the way of furniture, but you can stay there as long 
as you like and what with the produce of a big garden 
and the fish you can catch, the cost of life is reduced to a 
minimum. 

Now don’t refuse. . . . 

Hugh had got this far when Margot entered. He 
handed her his letter to read. 


412 


THE POISONED PARADISE 


“Why,” she said indignantly, “you’ve left out the most 
important thing of all.” 

“Oh, yes, I quite forgot about that.” 

“Forgot! Listen. The precious little darling! He’s 
crying for me now.” 

“Yes, his lungs are better than his looks.” 

“I like that. Everybody says he’s the image of you. 
Now, I must run.” 

“All right. I’ll put him in the postscript.” 

Hugh added a few more words as he listened to the 
subsiding wails of his son and heir. Then throwing him- 
self in his easy chair with a laugh of utter happiness he 
lit his pipe. 


THE END 
















































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